<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Carve Your Name Into My Bones by eyesofshinigami</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25594414">Carve Your Name Into My Bones</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyesofshinigami/pseuds/eyesofshinigami'>eyesofshinigami</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Jaskier/Other People, Mentions of past Geralt/Yennefer - Freeform, Professor!Jaskier, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Strangers to Lovers, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, artist!Jaskier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 08:16:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>32,701</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25594414</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyesofshinigami/pseuds/eyesofshinigami</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier is a traveling bard, but he also fancies himself a bit of an artist. As he travels, he dreams of a witcher whose name he doesn't know yet, one with long white hair and beautiful golden eyes. The seasons change and he sketches and sculpts a companion for himself based on the stranger in his dreams, modeling him after the tales and legends he's heard of witchers. He doesn't have an explanation as to why he feels compelled to sing to his creation, or tell him stories, breathing life into him bit by bit. A good bard just knows to follow his heart, that's all.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>283</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>348</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Subscriptions</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay, so this story was born when I stumbled across <a href="https://kayivy.tumblr.com/post/614377666447065088/pygmalion-galatea-au-okay-im-picturing-this">this</a> amazing fanart by KayIvy and the idea blossomed in my brain. The idea of Jaskier loving Geralt into being was just too good to pass up. </p><p>Special thanks to the Bards of Geraskier server for your constant love and encouragement, and especially to handwrittenhello for being an incredibly beta! ilu lots</p><p>Fic will update on Wednesdays</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Another night in another tavern, playing the same songs that he’s been playing for ages. Jaskier sits up in a rented room, staring out of the window at the full moon overhead. The coin was good, the ale was piss, and the crowd was a mixed bag. Just what he’s come to expect in playing for the little inns and taverns he encounters on his journey through the Continent. While songs about fishmonger’s daughters and lusty bar maids pay the bills, they aren’t what Jaskier wants any more. </p><p>Maybe it’s time to head home, or what passes for his home these days. The idea of returning to Lettenhove makes his skin crawl, so Oxenfurt it is. At least Oxenfurt has less expectations and more excitement to be found.</p><p>With a sigh, he pulls the window closed and settles down in the musty bed, wrinkling his nose at the stiffness of the sheets. He’s lonely, he knows. More than likely he could have brought up company, some adoring face from the crowd to pass the time, but his heart isn’t in it. Instead, he pulls out his sketchbook from the bottom of his knapsack, forgoing the notebook he writes his lyrics in.</p><p>The cover is still fresh, the binding making a satisfying crack when he opens it. Music is his first love, it’s true, but Jaskier knows that he’s a man of many talents. He didn’t graduate at the top of his class for nothing. Grabbing a charcoal stick from the depths of his bag, he starts to hum as he sketches. In his mind’s eye, he’s picturing a companion for the road. A man, he thinks. Strong, handsome, with a kind heart that lies beneath layers of armor. Someone complicated, someone who wraps themselves in heroics and heartbreak. </p><p>The outline of the man comes to him. Tall, broad, and capable. A man that can handle a sword with ease, who would perhaps protect Jaskier on his travels. Not quite a bodyguard, but someone who isn’t afraid to join the fray when needed. <i>Yes</i>, Jaskier thinks to himself. The way he’s picturing him is not sexual at all, just admiring. Almost… familiar. It’s a strange sensation.</p><p>Jaskier loses track of time as he sketches, until the light of the full moon is drifting through his window. He blinks, looking down at what he’s created. </p><p>He feels a tug underneath his ribs, a pull that he can’t describe. “Hello there, friend,” he whispers to the sketch. It should feel ridiculous, talking to a picture, but Jaskier can’t explain why the compulsion is there. It’s not like he’s ever done it before. “I’m sorry that I can’t finish your face tonight, but I’m quite tired from performing. Perhaps tomorrow I can give you features. Seems rude to leave you like this.” He lets his fingers drift across the sketch, careful not to smudge the lines, and then he slides the book closed. He holds the sketchbook close to his chest and lets out a deep, slow breath. </p><p>That night, he sleeps the soundest he’s slept in a long time. The book is cradled close to his chest and his dreams are filled with a blurry image of a man, with a deep voice that whispers things lost in the fog of sleep.</p><p>Jaskier wakes with a smile on his face.</p><p>-*-</p><p>The trip back to Oxenfurt is long and boring. His boots kick up road dust and his feet begin to ache, but he keeps on walking. The thought of getting a horse to make the journey quicker crosses his mind once or twice, but then he would have to feed and take care of the damned thing. Best just to rely on his feet to get him where he needs to go. Jaskier pulls out his lute and begins to pluck out a tune. </p><p>As he walks, he starts to get a strange, niggling sensation that centers in the middle of his back. Like he’s being watched. It isn’t the first time this has happened to him on the road, so Jaskier stops playing and slides his lute to his front. “Just keep walking,” he whispers, urging his feet to carry him faster. His mind drifts back to his sketch, to the lines of the man he’d begun to draw. “If you were here, you’d help. You’d be able to chase them away, wouldn’t you?” He keeps his voice pitched low, so as not to draw attention.</p><p>He gets a bit further before the inevitable happens. A band of men, bedraggled and dirty, steps into the road. Five by his count-- too many for him to try and take a stab at with the dagger he keeps in his boot. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat and swallows around it. “Evening, gentlemen,” he says as he forces a smile onto his face. </p><p>At first, none of them speak. After a beat one of them steps forward. “Evening. What’s a pretty bard like you doing out here in the woods?” He grins like a shark and Jaskier desperately tries not to shiver at the way the man’s eyes rove over him. </p><p>“Just passing through. If you let me by, I promise I will be out of your way. No need to worry about me.” Jaskier clutches his lute tighter to his chest. <i>Just not the lute</i>, he thinks towards the heavens, in case anyone decides to listen. <i>Anything but the lute.</i> </p><p>The man’s smirk gets wider. “Not without paying the toll, pretty.” A chorus of laughter and jeers echoes from behind him. “No one crosses through our woods otherwise.”</p><p>An argument rolls across Jaskier’s tongue, but he manages to keep it behind his teeth. He doesn’t ask what sort of toll they expect; he’s not sure he really wants to know. He takes one, two long, measured breaths and waits.</p><p>The man, clearly the leader, eyes his bag with interest. “Coin. All of it.” With that, he unsheathes a short sword, which is followed by the sounds of his men doing the same. </p><p>Fuck. Jaskier was really hoping they would just beat him up, but the weapons make this situation even worse. He doesn’t have the proper medical supplies to handle such a wound, and the nearest village is another half-day’s trek away. They may just kill him where he stands. The coin in his purse suddenly feels like a dead weight. “Surely we can negotiate or come to some kind of--”</p><p>“Coin, bard. Or I’ll slit your pretty throat and take it anyway,” the man sneers as he takes a step forward. </p><p>Jaskier let out a sigh. Without speaking, he reaches for the purse on his belt and tosses it at the bandit’s feet. He doesn’t want any trouble, but he hopes they don’t decide to go looking through his pack. His emergency coin is stashed down by his linseed oil and his lute strings, but more than that, he feels compelled to protect the little notebook with his sketch in it. It feels wrong, having someone else see it. And he’s sure these brutes would just destroy it anyway. </p><p>He waits a beat, watching them scramble towards the full purse like rodents on a crust of bread, before slowly starting to edge away. Keeping his steps light, he manages to get behind them before he breaks out into a run. His pack and lute smack against him uncomfortably, but the sounds of yelling are enough to make him ignore it. Better bruised than having his throat slit, or worse. </p><p>Jaskier doesn’t stop to look back, just keeps running even as his breath burns in his lungs and his feet ache. He’s sure he lost the bandits long ago, but the threat is enough to keep him going.</p><p>The sun is high in the sky by the time he forces his body to stop. Sweat drips down his face and his entire body feels like it’s on fire. His muscles and throat burn with the exertion. “Maybe… maybe I will look into that horse,” he says as he collapses onto a rock on the roadside. He takes a deep drink from his waterskin, careful not to make himself sick, and finishes with a sigh. That was too close a call, in his opinion.</p><p>Taking another deep breath, he closes his eyes for a moment. Now that the fear and adrenaline have started to subside, Jaskier just feels tired. Traveling alone makes him an easy target, he knows, but such is the life of a traveling bard. If only he had someone to accompany him, he wouldn’t find himself in these predicaments.</p><p>That thought is what has him reaching into his pack, unearthing the charcoal stick and sketchbook from the bottom of his pack. He opens the little book to the page where he started the sketch and begins to draw. “I bet you think I’m a fool, don’t you? Traveling on foot as I am. Why, I bet you’d have a horse. A beautiful one, too. I’m not fond of them, too much hassle, but… I bet you would let me ride.” It’s soothing, talking to his creation as the charcoal glides across the page. For a moment, he doesn’t feel so alone. “Even if not, it would be nice to have company at least. Someone to talk to, or sing to.” </p><p>By the time he’s finished, he sees the beginning of the face take shape. A strong jaw, a mouth drawn into a firm line, defined cheekbones. Probably annoyed with Jaskier’s antics, no doubt, the bard thinks with a chuckle. He hasn’t quite decided the color or shape of his eyes yet, but he knows they’ll be piercing. The eyes of a hunter, but soft when need be. Eyes that he can look into and know he’ll be safe. </p><p>Fatigue begins to weigh down his bones. So much excitement today, along with all the running, has made him bleary. Jaskier didn’t notice until he set aside his charcoal. It’s early yet, too early to make camp, and he isn’t really sure where he is. Glancing down at the sketch in his hand, he grins as he says, “I know, I know. Perhaps I should also procure myself a map. I blame the bandits. If they hadn’t chased me off my path, I wouldn’t be lost!”</p><p>For a moment, the picture almost flickers, and the figure’s expression changes into one of fond annoyance. Jaskier blinks; surely his eyes are playing tricks on him? The sun overhead and the tiredness he feels must be to blame. Another blink and the picture looks exactly how he drew it. </p><p>Something prickles in the back of his mind, but he waves it off. Nothing a little lunch and some rest wouldn’t fix. He puts the sketchbook away in his pack before digging around for his rations. Chewing thoughtfully, he feels compelled to pull the sketch out again. He doesn’t want to get it dirty, so he ignores it. “A lunchtime companion wouldn’t be remiss,” he grumbles. He bets the man in his sketch would be an excellent hunter. Once, Jaskier was lucky enough to catch a rabbit by accident, but other than that, he sticks to road rations. Something hot and roasted over a fire sounds heavenly.</p><p>Bread and cheese eaten, he contemplates taking a small nap, but remembers that the bandits are still out there. With his luck today, they’ll probably catch up to him. With a sigh, he packs the remaining food back up and gets to his feet with a wince. </p><p>“Alright, feet, here we go. Pray we find a village before nightfall.” He slides his pack on his back and sets off again, this time at a more sedate pace.</p><p>-*-</p><p>Jaskier does manage to find a village, though calling it such is being generous. There’s an inn, at the very least, at the far edge of town where the road sets out to the wilderness again. It’s a rundown, beat up thing, but four walls and a roof will be sufficient.</p><p>He thanks every single god he doesn’t believe in that they’ve a room available, even if it isn’t much more than a straw mat on the floor. The innkeeper also offers him a bowl of stew and some ale, for which he’s grateful. “You’re one of those bard types, ain’t ya?” he asks as he sets the bowl down on the counter. </p><p>Inwardly, Jaskier sighs. He really doesn’t have it in him to perform tonight. He pastes on a wide smile and chirps, “Why, yes I am, good sir! Are you in need of some entertainment?” He glances around the inn’s small dining room/tavern. There’s only about four or five tables, the bar, and what looks like a small dais--presumably for musicians or poets. He’s not sure how much entertaining he’ll be doing, though. Besides himself, he counts three other patrons, including the man that just headed out the door. </p><p>The innkeeper eyes him. “I don’t want you whorin’ in here-”</p><p>“Oh, no. I play the lute, sir,” Jaskier interrupts. He bristles a bit at the implication; if there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s people thinking that bard equates with whore. Not that he thinks there’s anything wrong with sex work as a whole; he just wishes people would stop assuming that it’s <i>his</i> job. “I have a few songs I can sing, and I know a sea shanty or two from Skellige.” </p><p>“Do you know that one about the fishmonger’s daughter?”</p><p>Jaskier visibly brightens. “I do, sir! In fact, I’m the one who wrote it! From my days at Oxenfurt as a student, so not my best work, but we’re all young once.”</p><p>The innkeeper scratches his chin before refilling Jaskier’s mug of ale. “Huh, well. Glad to have you, Master Bard. I tell ya what, if you can draw a decent crowd in tonight, I’ll cut your rate for the room in half. Deal?”</p><p>He really, really doesn’t want to play, but after the incident with the bandits, he can’t be choosy. “Of course. I thank you for the opportunity. Please, allow me to finish my dinner first?” he asks, holding up a spoonful of stew. Thankfully, the man nods, and then wanders away to help another patron at the other end of the bar. Jaskier lets out a quiet sigh. “Bottoms up,” he mumbles as he drains the mug.</p><p>As he plays well into the night, Jaskier loses track of time as he plays, well into the night. He manages to draw a decent crowd, to his surprise, and no one throws food at him. Tonight has been a good night. But now, he practically collapses onto the mat in his room. He doesn’t bother to take off his doublet or wash his face, too tired to even contemplate it. </p><p>At least he knows he’ll sleep well tonight. Though, as he closes his eyes, he feels that same familiar tug to grab his sketchbook. It’s silly, but here in the dark, nobody will know. He musters up enough energy to fish through his pack and pulls it out, clutching the little book to his chest. “I played pretty well tonight, despite everything. I wonder if you would like music?” he muses quietly as his eyes start to get heavy. “I’d sing you many songs, you know. About your heroic deeds and your feats of strength. They would be the stuff of legends…”</p><p>He trails off as sleep overtakes him, keeps his little sketch, his secret, close to his heart.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier is sitting in the back of a hay cart, staring out into the fields of Velen somewhere, when the driver starts talking to him. He finagled a ride in the last village, and his feet are much happier for it. “I hope you don’t mind us traveling through Rinde. It can be a bit dangerous but it's the shortest route.”</p>
<p>“No, sir. I understand needs must, and all that. Do you mind if I ask why it’s so dangerous?” Jaskier is itching to pull out his quill and notebook, but doesn’t want to be rude. “You see, I’m a traveling bard. We live for these sorts of stories.”</p>
<p>“Aye, but I wouldn’t suggest getting caught up in such affairs. Rumors of monsters lurking in the woods and such outside the village. People turning up dead. Some say it’s a werewolf, but nobody has lived to tell the tale.” He clicks his tongue and his doddering mare trundles a little faster. “The village put out a notice on the boards for one of those Witchers, but they’re few and far between these days.”</p>
<p>Jaskier doesn’t reply, but the driver doesn’t seem put off by it. His mind is buzzing; what a treat it would be to meet a real, live Witcher! He’s heard of them, sure, but the driver wasn’t wrong when he said they’re a dying breed. A shame, that. He’d grown up on tales of them, how if you misbehaved you’d be stolen in the night and mutated into one, but never put much stock in such things. What a story meeting one would make. His mind is already whirling with the ballads he could sing, the kinds of creatures he could see. His parents always accused him of having an overactive imagination, but it serves him well, he feels.</p>
<p>“Have you ever seen one before? On your travels?” he asks, after a moment. </p>
<p>The driver makes a thoughtful noise; he’s mentioned that he travels the continent quite a bit, more than even the most learned scholars could claim. Maybe he had…? “Not that I can recall. But I’ve heard stories. Dual swords, eyes like a cat, medallion around their necks. Everyone’s got a story about how their cousin saw them in a backwater village in Velen, but. You know how tales grow better than anyone, I’m sure.”</p>
<p>“You’re not wrong, sir. You’ll forgive my adventurer’s heart, but what a delight it would be to meet one!” Jaskier trills, spreading his arms wide. </p>
<p>The other man lets out a huff. “Don’t fill your head with silly notions like that, son. They’re dangerous creatures. Mutants. I wouldn’t trust one as far as I could throw him.”</p>
<p>Rolling his eyes, Jaskier doesn’t dignify that comment with a response. He should’ve expected more of the same thing he heard as a child. “Hmm,” is all he says, ending the conversation. Asking more questions will probably just earn him more scolding, so he picks up his lute and begins to play.</p>
<p>Even as snippets of melody leave his lips, he can’t help but think about what the man said. Surely Witchers were nothing like what these backwater people thought? He can’t explain why the thought rankles him so. He finds himself glancing at his pack, but keeps strumming his lute instead. A bard always does their best thinking when music is involved.</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>The thoughts of Witchers and beasts follow him all the way to Oxenfurt. The journey is arduous, between walking and playing to pay for his supper. He barely has the energy to write music for his livelihood, much less add to his sketch. It niggles at him, but he chalks it up to being restless to arrive back at his old stomping grounds. </p>
<p>Oxenfurt is bright and bustling, just like he remembers. Something in him settles at being here, the closest place he can call home. </p>
<p>He heads to the university straight away, eager to speak to the dean and see if he can secure lodgings for the time being. Luckily, after a negotiation or two about teaching classes and doing guest lectures, Jaskier settles into one of the teacher dormitory rooms and lets his eyes fall closed as he lays down. His body melts into the bed and he lets himself relax for the first time in what feels like months.</p>
<p>He’s asleep in moments. </p>
<p>Perhaps it’s the peace of being in a bed in his own room, or just a testament to how tired he is, but Jaskier’s dreams are more vivid than the last time. Before, he dreamt of a voice, low and gruff, but this time he sees a figure. The outline is blurry, but he knows it’s the man he’s been sketching. He sees long hair, a broad back in a black linen shirt, and a tapered waist that gives way to strong thighs and calves. He thought before that this man was a warrior of some sort, but he feels like something <i>more</i>. The figure turns, just the faintest bit, and eyes the color of molten gold meet Jaskier’s own before he’s thrust back into wakefulness.</p>
<p><i>What the fuck?</i> Jaskier thinks as he clutches a hand to his chest. He glances outside to see that the sun is beginning to set. He has no idea how long he’s been asleep, but the dream felt so real. </p>
<p>He gets to his feet and nearly trips in his haste to get to his desk, opening the sketchbook. Hurriedly, he tries to capture the figure he saw in his dream before he loses it. The only sounds in his room are the scratching of his charcoal on paper and his labored breathing as he works. Finally, he sits back and takes a moment to look over his newest piece. </p>
<p>It’s just like in his dream; Jaskier feels warmth suffuse his entire being at a job well done. Though, the longer he looks at it, the more it feels incomplete. Something is missing that he can’t quite put his finger on. “I’m sorry, my friend, for leaving you in such a state. Hopefully, I’ll be able to figure out what it is you need. If only you could tell me!” he says with a laugh.</p>
<p>Out of nowhere, a thought strikes him. He’s been thinking nonstop his entire journey about Witchers, and here he is, in a place that gives him access to one of the best libraries on the continent. Maybe there lies the answer he needs?</p>
<p>He glances down at the sketch. Hopefully the books he can find about Witchers will help solve the mystery. The driver’s words come back to him, but he’d rather see what other information he can find. If he’s going to put this much effort into a sketch, then it’s going to be as accurate as he can make it. </p>
<p>Before he can think too much further on it, he lets out a jaw-cracking yawn. Despite his nap earlier, Jaskier can still feel the weight of his travels weighing down on him. Some dinner and an early bedtime would probably do him some good. He can worry about Witchers and sketches in the morning. He closes the book and smiles. “I’ll figure out your secrets, my friend. Let us hope the library serves us better than drivers of hay carts.”</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>“I need to find all of your books on Witchers,” Jaskier asks the librarian. She’s an older woman with a sharp eye and a permanent frown. He remembers her from his days here as a student, quite surprised that she’s still here. “If you don’t mind, Etta.”</p>
<p>“There’s your manners. Thought you might have forgotten then again, Julian Pankratz.” </p>
<p>Jaskier just barely manages to keep the wince off his face; he truly hates it when people call him by that name. “I apologize. I’m still recuperating from my travels, but unfortunately inspiration won’t leave me be. You know how us bardic types tend to be!” </p>
<p>Etta sniffs at him as she gives him a look over the rim of her spectacles. “I do. But tell me, why are you interested in Witchers?” </p>
<p>A million excuses bubble in the back of his throat, ready to weave some elaborate tale that skirts around the truth of the matter. Instead, he says, “I’m working on a sketch. I want to make it as accurate as I can.”</p>
<p>She looks just as surprised as he feels by his answer. “Well, I believe I can help you. Take some of what you read with a grain of salt. You know how some of these doddery old academics can be.” Etta waves at him to follow her as they weave through the stacks. The sheer number of shelves upon shelves of books, cabinets of musty old manuscripts, and walls of sheet music has Jaskier’s head spinning a bit. How Etta manages to remember where everything is astounds him. She doesn’t speak as she begins to pull books and papers off the shelves and hands them to him. </p>
<p>“That should get you started,” she says finally, turning around to face him. “I’m sure you remember where the study tables are? And be sure to leave these at the desk when you’re finished.” </p>
<p>With that, she’s gone. Jaskier shakes himself out of his stupor and heads to one of the study tables in the back of the library. It’s been a long while since he’s been here, but it brings back memories of his days as a student. He smiles and whispers, “One day, I’ll have to tell you about some of the things I got up to here at the university. Hopefully you’d find them as amusing as I do.” The notebook is heavy in his pocket, reminding him of why he’s here. </p>
<p>And so, he gets to work.</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>Etta wasn’t kidding about some of these texts. The first two he reads make him so angry he can feel his ears burning. It’s more of the same prejudice he had encountered before, talking about how Witchers are little more than the monsters they hunt. Another book is a collection of poetry that even <i>he</i> has trouble deciphering, and another that’s written in a language he’s never seen before. Two manuscripts that talk in complicated terms about alchemy and potion ingredients. A ballad that makes him want to roll his eyes with how utterly ridiculous it sounds. </p>
<p>Just as he’s starting to lose hope, Jaskier picks up another book. “The Study of the Witcher; A Compendium of Knowledge,” he reads out loud. The book is old and musty, as though it hasn’t been pulled off the shelf in some time. Still, something about it feels right. He cracks it open and begins to read.</p>
<p>It’s a treasure trove. The book talks about the history of the Witchers and some vague details mentioning that there’s a process to making them. He keeps flipping through, skimming parts about how there are different schools with different talents. There’s some sobering information about how zealots sacked each of the keeps, leaving the number of Witchers in the double digits. A pang hits behind his ribcage; he can’t even imagine the devastation. The book even talks about the prejudice and hatred towards Witchers, in a detached sort of way. Jaskier can believe that, even if he didn’t witness it first hand.</p>
<p>He keeps reading until he gets to a passage that catches his eye and settles itself in his brain. “<i>There are many tales about the appearance of Witchers, but many of them are false and born of fear and prejudice. Most Witchers carry scars of their battles with forces unknown to most humans, even with their accelerated healing rate. Their senses, speed, and agility are heightened, even without their use of potions and decoctions. Two of the defining features of a Witcher are their golden cat-like eyes and their dual swords: steel for humans, and silver for monsters. This is a commonality amongst all the schools.</i></p>
<p>“Schools? Hmm, that’s rather interesting,” Jaskier wonders aloud, earning himself a shush from one of the students at another table. He frowns, and continues reading to keep himself from sticking his tongue out. </p>
<p>
  <i>“It is said that there are seven different Witcher Schools, each with different specialities and abilities. All of the Schools are versed in magics as well as swordplay, but place different emphasis on different qualities. The Witcher is marked by a medallion around their neck, indicating which school they belong to. Little is known about the Trials, a blend of alchemy and magics, that create the Witchers, especially after such knowledge was lost. When the pogrom was led by religious zealots determined to rid the world of anything they deemed out of the ordinary. All of the keeps where the schools were housed have been destroyed. Now, next to nothing is known about their whereabouts.” </i>
</p>
<p>Jaskier sits back in his chair, his head spinning. So much information in so small a paragraph, but he can feel that familiar tug in his chest. Sadness creeps into his being. These men were created to keep humanity safe, underwent trials that did untold things to them, and they’re repaid with prejudice and fear. <i>Fucking humanity,</i> he thinks to himself. </p>
<p>He pulls his sketchbook from his bag and opens it to the latest drawing of the man he feels so drawn to. “I am so sorry, my friend. I am sure you and your brothers in arms did nothing to deserve the fate handed to you.” He’s… not entirely sure why he says that. It just feels right, that this unknown man is a Witcher.  He takes a deep breath and grabs his charcoal, opening to a clean page in which to make notes. He jots down all the information he can to save for later, knowing that he’ll need it.</p>
<p>There’s no more useful information in the remaining books and manuscripts he has, so he gathers his materials and brings them back to the desk. Etta peers at him from over her glasses again. “Find what you were looking for?” she asks, voice neutral.</p>
<p>Jaskier startles. “Um, yes? I believe so. This book was especially helpful, but the rest were… a bit rubbish, I’m afraid,” he replies, holding the book up. </p>
<p>Etta nods and plucks it from his hand. “I thought it might be. Rumor is, it was written by a Witcher himself, as a gift to the historians here at the university. I’m not sure if that’s true or not, but I’m glad it helped you find what you were looking for.” She smiles, then shoos him off with a wave of her hand. </p>
<p>He heads back out into the afternoon sunshine, head whirling with what he’s learned.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Discord || #eyesofshinigami0707<br/>Tumblr || <a>eyesofshinigami</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Later, after he’s had some time to digest it, Jaskier heads back to his room and pulls out his book and charcoal. Humming a melody, he sits down and begins to sketch again. </p>
<p>He’s not sure where to begin, but he adds definition to the eyes of the man’s face. Slit pupils, wise and weary. He imagines they crinkle when he’s happy, in the corners. Though his face is stern, Jaskier feels that the man is a well of emotions and feelings. Someone who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, someone who has lived a long time and has seen many things. “I bet you’ve done many good deeds, haven’t you? Probably don’t even realize the caliber of man you are. I see it in your face,” Jaskier mumbles, before his words disappear back into the melody he’s humming under his breath. He would write so many songs for this man, he knows. Songs that would change the minds of those who know only fear and prejudice. Isn’t that what music is for? To touch hearts and minds in ways that spoken words cannot?</p>
<p>Once he finishes the face, he pauses. The sketch is beautiful, if he dares say so himself. The brooding figure in the picture calls to Jaskier, and he wishes he knew why. </p>
<p>But he isn’t finished. He opens to a clean page and thinks back to what the book said. Dual swords and armor, along with a medallion to mark which School he belonged to. “What are you, friend? I wish I knew more of your Schools, so I could get it right. But keep your secrets; I believe you’re more than entitled to them. Perhaps one day you’ll tell me?” he asks with a chuckle. </p>
<p>He finishes the sketch and surveys his work. It’s another picture of the man, looking even more fearsome and impressive in the armor Jaskier envisioned. It’s probably woefully inaccurate, but it will have to do. He imagines the swords would be honed and beautifully kept; you can always measure a man by the quality of his tools, after all. A Witcher who hunts all manner of things would be sure to keep his swords in the best condition. Jaskier’s also compelled to draw the beginnings of a horse’s muzzle. His Witcher would treat his horse with the same care he shows his weapons, Jaskier’s sure of it. He imagines the man talking to his horse as they ride along, like an old friend. </p>
<p>It warms him to his toes. </p>
<p>“A magnificent beast for a magnificent Witcher. What a pair you’d make.” Another snippet of melody fills his head and he keeps humming it as he adds a flourish or two. “I could only dream of traveling with someone such as yourself.” </p>
<p>After what seems like hours, he sets his charcoal aside. The same stoic face stares up at him, and Jaskier is delighted. “I’ll get you to smile yet, you’ll see.” </p>
<p>His timing is impeccable, it seems. There’s a knock at the door, and before he can get to his feet, his door swings open and a blonde hurricane comes tumbling in. “Julian! Why didn’t you tell me you were back at Oxenfurt!” he hears, right before he’s tackled to the floor.</p>
<p>“I hate when you call me that, Priscilla.” Jaskier sniffs, but returns the hug wholeheartedly. “I only got back yesterday and had some… research to do today.”</p>
<p>She snorts and tugs at his doublet. “Research? Who did you sleep with this time?” </p>
<p>Jaskier frowns and shoves her off, even as she’s still giggling. “No one, I’ll have you know. I…” he hesitates with a glance at his desk. Something niggles at him to keep his mouth shut. Like it’s just <i>not time</i>. “I have a project I’m working on and I had to visit the library.” </p>
<p>“Well, all work and no play makes Julian a dull boy, you know. I’m playing at a tavern called The Prancing Pony. You must come, I’d love to hear your opinion on my newest cycle.” Priscilla bats her eyelashes sweetly at him. “Then perhaps after we can… celebrate.”</p>
<p>On any other day, Jaskier would take her up on her offer. Ever since his days as a student, they’ve been friends that occasionally tumble together when the mood takes them. Priscilla is as excellent a lover as she is a musician, but… that same strange feeling comes over him. Like he’d be doing something wrong if he took her to bed with him. Strange indeed. “I’ll come listen to you play, but I have to meet with the dean in the morning, so it’s probably best I only stay to listen,” he lies through his teeth. </p>
<p>She blinks at him a moment, but then smiles. “All right, keep your secrets. I’m sure enough Redanian wine will loosen your tongue about what’s really going on with you.” She gets to her feet and offers him a hand up. “And perhaps you can tell me why you decided to come back. I thought you were traveling the Continent?”</p>
<p>He takes the offered hand and glances in the mirror once he’s on his feet. He looks fine; after all, he’s not dressing to impress this evening. “I wanted to come home for a bit. Life on the road isn’t as kind to bards as I’d like it to be,” he replies, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sure before too long I’ll be restless to set out onto the road again.”</p>
<p>Priscilla leans up against his desk, with her arms crossed. Something about her being that close to his sketches has the hair on his neck standing on end, but he does his best to stay calm. “I bet you twenty crowns it’ll be within a month. You never can stay still for too long.”</p>
<p>She’s… not wrong. “I’ll take that bet. Now, tell me more about this performance of yours,” he says, changing the subject. He loops his arm in hers and leads her out of the room, being sure to lock the door. </p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>When he comes back that night, he’s pleasantly buzzed. His cheeks are warm with drink and he feels a bit loose. It’s been a long while since he’s been able to relax enough to feel this good. He stumbles into his room and sheds his clothes; the pile will be a problem to deal with in the morning. </p>
<p>Usually with this much drink, he’d be in someone else’s bed by now; his body is quick to remind him as his naked cock slowly starts to thicken against his thigh. It <i>has</i> been a while. </p>
<p>He leans over and pulls out the oil he keeps in his nightstand, slicking his palm and taking himself in hand. He shivers at the first touch, squeezing tight around the shaft and slowly stroking. As he relaxes into the bed, he lets his mind wander. He thinks briefly of Priscilla and her nimble fingers on the strings of her lute, how they’d feel on his cock right now. Then he drifts to the handsome miller he met in Velen, who fucked him well enough that Jaskier actually stayed the night. Both make him shudder, but then his mind jumps to the still open sketchbook on his desk.</p>
<p>A bolt of heat frizzles down his spine. It should feel silly, or wrong, but instead the image of the man he’s drawn fills Jaskier’s mind. All he can think about is broad shoulders and the width of the man’s back, the way his hands would feel.  His hands would be so unlike the softness of Jaskier’s own; he’s sure they’d be calloused and rough, but gentle. Coiled strength that could snap and break him in half. But he bets his Witcher would be a considerate lover. He’d tease and growl and pin Jaskier beneath him, but he would never hurt him.</p>
<p>His cock flexes in his grip at that thought. He’s harder than he’s been in a long time and he just wants. He’s picturing his Witcher spread over him, golden eyes molten with need. His muscles and scars would be on display, and Jaskier would let him do whatever he wanted. His strokes start to pick up speed as he imagines his Witcher leaning close, leaving a trail of lovebites along his neck and shoulder as he strokes his cock. What would the man say, while they were twined together like this? Would he growl and rasp, desperate to feel Jaskier come in his grip?</p>
<p>His other hand reaches down and cups his balls, tugging them a bit as he keeps twisting his hand along his cock. His toes are curling in the bedclothes and he wishes his Witcher was here to see it. “See how desperate I am for you? How just the thought of you brings me close to coming? Oh, how I long to hear your voice, want to hear your whisper in my ear,” Jaskier moans out, throwing his head back. The pressure is building in his belly, his hips rocking of their own accord. Fuck, he needs something, anything to push him over. </p>
<p><i>“Jaskier, come for me,”</i> he hears in his mind, rough and low, pitched like gravel. He’s not sure where it comes from but it’s enough to send him straight into an orgasm. His hips buck and his cock shoots, hitting his own chin with the strength of his release. His body is taut as a bowstring and he rides the waves as long as he can until it becomes too much. He rides his fist to a stop and lets his body drop back down into the bed. </p>
<p>“Fuck,” he whispers, drawing in a deep breath to calm his racing heart. He can’t remember the last time he came so hard, he thinks as he glances down at the mess across his stomach. He chalks it up to it having been a while, trying to pretend like it wasn’t his own imagination that made him come his brains out. </p>
<p>He lazily grabs the edge of the sheet and wipes off, contemplating sucking his spend off his fingers, but decides against it. Rolling over, he blows a kiss towards his desk. “Thank you, I suppose,” he murmurs, eyes already growing heavy with satiation. </p>
<p>Before he knows it, he’s fast asleep.</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>This time, he’s naked in his dream, in the middle of a forest. The ground is hard but he barely notices. Instead, the man from his sketch is curled beside him, on the thin bedroll. His eyes are closed and his face is soft, slack in sleep. He’s just as naked, but it seems… natural. Like Jaskier shouldn’t be surprised. He takes a moment to admire his bed partner. His hair is silver-white, but looks soft and well-cared for. His pale skin is riddled with scars, but they only add to how beautiful the man is. Against his chest is a medallion, molded into the shape of a snarling wolf. </p>
<p>“A wolf, of course. How fitting,” Jaskier whispers, voice soft as not to wake his companion. He resists the urge to touch and kiss and cuddle. There’s another pull in his chest, underneath his ribs, every time he sees this man. He wants to know more, why he’s so drawn to this beautiful Witcher. </p>
<p>But that’s perhaps something for another time. Right now, he lies down and watches his companion sleep. “What are you dreaming of, I wonder? What has you so lax and restful?” Warmth fills him as hope bubbles in his chest. “Perhaps you dream of me as I dream of you? Here, in this place?” </p>
<p>Golden eyes open, hazy with sleep as the faintest of smiles ticks up on the man’s face. “I would, if you weren’t so loud.” </p>
<p>His words speak of familiarity, which both confuses Jaskier and makes him… yearn for something. He just doesn’t know what. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”</p>
<p>The man rolls onto his back, tugging Jaskier close. “Then help me sleep.” He dozes again, chest rising and falling with his slow, even breaths. Jaskier lays his head on his chest and lets his eyes close. This feels right, perfect. Like he‘s where he’s meant to be…</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier jolts awake, confused to see four walls and a roof over his head. Wasn’t he just in a forest? With… his Witcher? Maybe all the wine went to his head, after all. Why does he feel so lost and disjointed? </p>
<p>He scrubs a hand over his face and gets to his feet. Morning sunlight creeps in through his window and highlights the still-open sketchbook. As he moves about the room, gathering what he needs to clean himself after his… <i>escapade</i> last night,  bits of his dream filter back to him. His cheeks burn a bit at the memory. “You wanked off to a sketch, you dolt,” he scolds himself. Still, it doesn’t bother him as much as it should. </p>
<p>Making his way to the baths, he tries to remember more of his dream. The witcher seemed to know him; they both seemed to know each other. Intimately, if they were laying naked together on a bedroll. The idea of it makes Jaskier’s cock twitch a little, but he’s got no time for that. Also, it's bad form to show up to the baths with an erection. </p>
<p>He moves through his cleaning routine almost on instinct. He’s barely paying attention to what he’s doing, lost in his thoughts as he is. The dream is haunting him, even moreso than the last one. Why?</p>
<p>When he gets back to his room, there’s a man standing at his door. “Are you Master Pankratz?” he asks, glancing at Jaskier’s half-naked appearance with a wrinkled nose. </p>
<p>“I am. Who are you?” Jaskier retorts as he shoves past him. “If you give me a moment, I’ll get dressed and then we can discuss whatever it is you need.” </p>
<p>The man sniffs but pulls out a scroll of paper. “No need. The dean asked me to give this to you. Your schedule for the semester? If you have any questions, please see him in his office once you’re… decent.” With that, he turns on his heel and walks away.</p>
<p>Jaskier rolls his eyes. <i>Of course</i> the dean would send someone to fetch him that was just as much of a pompous windbag. Suddenly he’s thankful he only agreed to stay on during the winter months. It’s… strange how that worked out, but Jaskier brushes it off. He dresses quickly and sits down at his desk. As much as it pains him, he closes his sketchbook and opens the missive the dean sent.</p>
<p>Thankfully, it’s nothing too hard to figure out. He’ll teach a block on poetry and another on composition, as well as three guest lectures on various topics. Nothing too strenuous, and it means a warm place to stay and steady coin for the season. Then he can set out on the road again, doing what he loves. </p>
<p>His eyes flick back to the book, ripping a page out and grabbing his stick of charcoal. He’ll need to get a new one soon, with all the drawing he’s been doing. But it’s a satisfying feeling. Soon, he’s scribbled out a quick sketch of the man, one he can fold up and take in his pocket. He can’t explain the urge to do so, but it seems important that he do so.  </p>
<p>“Hope you’re up to preparing lesson plans, my friend. At the very least, you can keep me company while I visit my new office. I’m sure it’ll be quite boring for you, but needs must, and all that.” He grabs some books and materials from his shelves and heads off, not wanting to be late.</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>Jaskier loves teaching, he does. He’s good at it, for one thing, and he enjoys watching his students blossom over the course of a semester. He’s surprised to learn that his classes have been sought after and have all been filled to capacity. Normally, such a thing would make him preen like peacock, but instead it fills him with dread. That strange tugging feeling beneath his ribs flares up again, like he should be <i>somewhere else.</i> It leaves him feeling wrong-footed.</p>
<p>His office is just as he left it-- disorganized and a little cluttered. He hadn’t expected them to leave it untouched. A knock on the door draws his attention from the mess. </p>
<p>“I told them you’d be back! I just had a feeling.”</p>
<p>“Velda!” Jaskier exclaims, wrapping the newcomer in a tight hug. “Darling, I wasn’t sure if you’d be here.”</p>
<p>A short, dark-skinned woman smiles up at him with shining brown eyes and a sparkling grin. Her hair is flecked generously with silver, but it makes her appear wise and knowing. “Of course. They’ll never get rid of me. How are you?” </p>
<p>“Good, I suppose. Settling in,” he says, unsure of how else to say it. Velda nods like she understands. “What about you? How are you doing?”</p>
<p>She waves for him to follow her down the hall. “Busy. Had quite the crop of sculpture students last fall, so cleaning and preparing the studio for this round was a bit taxing. I’m not as young as I used to be, you know,” she says with a grin, tweaking her nose. “You’ll have to stop by and see my newest piece.” She leads him into her office and offers him a seat. </p>
<p>“Of course, I’d love to.” He sits down and crosses his legs. He feels the paper shift in his pocket and bites his lip. “I haven’t been working on much this past season, unfortunately. Though, there’s a snippet of a melody that keeps playing in my head. I might use it with my composition students.” <i>The one I hear in my head every time I think of him,</i> he thinks to himself. “I had to come back and do some research for a project I’m working on too, so I figured, why not winter here, make some coin, mold some minds, and be on my way?”</p>
<p>Velda laughs, the sound sweet like the tinkling of bells. “Oh, Jaskier, it’ll be nice to have you back. Sounds like you’ll be busy, but perhaps you could make time to see me more.”</p>
<p>Jaskier smiles, warmed. “Of course, darling. This afternoon, perhaps? I have to wrangle these ideas into submission first.” </p>
<p>She nods and pulls out a bottle of gin from beneath her desk. “Surely you can spare time for a drink?”</p>
<p>“For you, my dear, anything.”</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>He doesn’t manage to get anything accomplished. Instead, he finds himself doodling his Witcher in his notes like a schoolboy before he realizes what he’s doing. Slitted eyes and downturned eyebrows, almost like the man is judging Jaskier for not getting any work done. “It’s your fault I’m distracted, you know,” he mutters under his breath, even as his lips quirk up in a smile. “I can’t help it. This place feels like a cage at times, even though it also feels like home. Do you feel that way about wherever you came from?”</p>
<p>He taps his quill against the paper one last time before shoving it away. It’s no good. He knows he’s not going to get any work done today. He considers going back to his room to finish his sketch, but then remembers his promise to Velda. With a sigh, he gets to his feet and locks up his office before heading down to the studio.</p>
<p>Velda’s studio is in the heart of the university, a large building resembling one of the warehouses down by the docks in Novigrad. So much brilliant art has been produced here, spread throughout castles  and manors across the Continent; it’s only fitting that she be given the space to do as she pleases. </p>
<p>He creeps inside, glancing around the space. Half-finished statues and art pieces are everywhere, in various states and materials. Velda is adamant about letting her students explore and test, which is one of the things Jaskier loves about her. He’s admiring them when Velda pops her head up from around a gorgeous figure of a buxom woman with a decorative shroud. “Ah, Jaskier! Just in time,” she says, putting her tools down on her workbench. “Isn’t she a beauty?”</p>
<p>He hums appreciatively. “She is. It’s a stunning piece.”</p>
<p>Velda dusts her apron off and runs her hand along the woman’s calf. “Thank you. She’s going to some manor house in Toussaint. I think it’s supposed to be the wife of some baron? I have no idea, I just got the commission and some sketches from their resident artist.”</p>
<p>“Oh well. The baron was probably afraid you’d charm his wife and she’d never come home if she modeled for you,” Jaskier teases, eyes still roaming across the woman’s form. Velda’s work really is second to none. </p>
<p>“Pot, meet kettle,” Velda replies with a chuckle. “Now, would you like to see the rest of the place? I can show you what my more advanced students are working on.” She leads him towards another section of the warehouse, where more pieces are gathered in much further states of being finished. </p>
<p>He walks through, admiring, until something makes him stop. There’s a block of stone resting in the back of the room, up on a pedestal like it’s waiting to be molded. Before he realizes what he’s doing, Jaskier’s feet have taken him there and his hands are reaching out on their own accord. The stone is strangely warm to the touch and he feels… a pulse? No, surely that can’t be right. Stone is stone. But he can’t deny the pull he feels, much like the one he’s carried with him in his chest for the last several months. </p>
<p>“Jaskier?” </p>
<p>Velda’s voice breaks him out of his reverie. “What? I’m sorry, I just…” he hesitates, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. He glances back up at the block of stone. “I’m not sure what came over me.”</p>
<p>“I certainly know what it looks like. Have you ever sculpted before?” she asks, voice strangely neutral. </p>
<p>“No, not beyond the basics when I took your elective. I never had a knack for it. You know me, though, I love all of the arts in all their forms. I wish I was better at it.” He touches the stone again, taking in the smoothness and can feel the potential humming under his fingertips. “I know this is going to be a strange request, but… do you think I could try? Even if I bungle it up, I just… I feel like I need to try.” </p>
<p>Velda’s quiet for a long moment and Jaskier can feel the weight of her gaze on his back. He draws his hand back, even though he wants to keep touching. It’s hard to resist the siren’s call of the stone. Finally, she asks, “Is this about the project you mentioned?”</p>
<p>Jaskier startles. “I… suppose? It’s really quite hard to explain. I don’t really understand it myself, but the muse wants what it wants.” He pulls out the sketch he’d drawn of his Witcher. It takes him a moment to gather the courage to show it to her. The tug is there, to keep it secreted away, but he needs her to see.</p>
<p>Velda leans closer to look at the sketch, but is careful not to touch. “I see. Well… for someone with basic understanding of sculpture, it will be quite tough. However, I know you. You’re tenacious enough that you might be able to make it work. The block is yours. I’ll provide you with the tools, and if you need or want my help, I’m here.” </p>
<p>“Are… are you sure? This is--” </p>
<p>She shakes her head and waves him off. “Jaskier, you’re my friend, and frankly, this block has been sitting here for longer than I care to admit. It’s just never seemed to fit with anyone. I guess it was waiting for you,” she says, eyes sparkling. Velda folds her hands behind her back and glances up at the stone. “You know, if you pull this off, it’ll be an amazing piece.”</p>
<p>Jaskier smiles, though it’s a bit wobbly at the corners. “I hope I can.”</p>
<p>-*- </p>
<p>Back in his room, Jaskier sits at his desk and starts trying to compose. He needs to get his lessons in order, think about what he wants to accomplish this semester. He hasn’t gotten a roster yet, but he’s adaptable. </p>
<p>He starts plotting out the melody in his head, the one that has been as prominent as the Witcher. It’s a cheery, upbeat tune that he finds himself humming at odd moments, especially when he’s sketching. The lyrics are still out of reach; he has the distinct feeling that they’re on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t quite figure them out.</p>
<p>“I’m beginning to suspect this is your doing, friend,” he grumbles good-naturedly to the open sketchbook. The stoic face of the man stares back up at him. “You don’t look all that penitent, either.” He chuckles to himself, pulling out a clean sheet of paper from his journal. “Perhaps I’ll compose something to get back at you. Something about one of your adventures, perhaps? Any stories to tell?” </p>
<p>He gets nothing in return. </p>
<p>“Fine, bastard. Don’t tell me. I’ll pull the story out of you eventually, though.” Even one-sided, the warmth of the banter feels...familiar, almost. </p>
<p>He shakes his head; that’s ridiculous. “I might need to get some rest, I think I may be going a bit batty.” He takes one more look at the sketchbook and decides to leave it open. “Good night, my friend.”</p>
<p>That night, he doesn’t dream. The only thing he can remember is a rough, familiar voice speaking words he cannot understand.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next week goes by in a blur. Classes have started and soon Jaskier finds himself up to his ears in papers to grade, compositions to complete, and guest lectures to write. He barely has time to sketch, let along start on the statue. Most nights he just collapses in bed, not even having the energy to change his clothes. He sleeps deeply enough that he doesn’t dream, which has him waking off-kilter and a little shaky. Over the course of the week, the tug under his ribs gets stronger, more painful. One day, while teaching, he has to take a moment to sit and breathe, and it takes him long enough that his students start to get concerned. He waves them off, not wanting to admit that it’s worrying him as well.</p>
<p>Saturday, when he wakes, he feels like someone has replaced his bones with molasses. It’s hard to get out of bed, but a glance at his desk makes him push himself enough to move into his chair. He keeps his quilt wrapped around him as he opens his sketchbook. </p>
<p>The drawings he’s made are starting to look strangely faded. Surely the charcoal he’s using wouldn’t oxidize that quickly? Frantically, he starts to trace over the lines he’s already done, making them dark and solid again. “I’m sorry, my Witcher,” he murmurs, as if his inattention has caused his friend some sort of pain. “This week has been a bit much. But I promise, once things slow down, I’ll be able to spend more time with you.” He starts to hum the melody that he keeps trying to place, and it’s soothing, somehow. “Let’s see now…”</p>
<p>It feels good, finding some time to sketch again. It settles something in him, eases the pain that’s been building in his chest. This time, he sketches the Witcher in his armor, or at least how Jaskier would picture it. Dark leather, easy to move in. It certainly would be well-cared for, just like the Witcher’s swords. The man is in a crouch, sword lifted in the air and his brow furrowed in concentration. He looks… stunning, Jaskier thinks to himself. His Witcher’s eyes are intense, even looking off at his imagined foe. </p>
<p>This time, he takes a moment to draw what he imagines the Wolf medallion would look like. Snarling, ready to pounce, just like the wearer. He wishes for a moment that the Witchers weren’t so damned secretive about everything, so he can make it look the way it’s supposed to. “We’re just hazarding a guess here. I hope I’m not too far off the mark, my Witcher,” he says softly, adding more strokes. </p>
<p>When he’s finished, he sets his charcoal down and smiles at the way the sketch turned out. He props his chin in his hand and lets his mind drift to what could have prompted the scene before him. Perhaps his Witcher was out on a contract? Or maybe he was stopping the troupe of bandits that Jaskier encountered on the road? Whatever he was doing, he looked <i>amazing</i> doing it.</p>
<p>Jaskier’s cock twitches and he sighs. He is nothing if not predictable, he supposes. It’s been a long time since he’s had any company, but he doesn’t find that he particularly wants any. Getting himself off to the thought of his Witcher again sounds like it would do well to scratch that itch. </p>
<p>He doesn't even bother moving from his desk.</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>Jaskier makes a point to draw or sketch every day, no matter how tired he is. He doesn’t want to have that panicked feeling bubble up in him again, nor does he want that strange pain in his chest again. Thankfully, after the first couple weeks of classes, things start to quiet down, and Jaskier finds himself outside of Velda’s studio. </p>
<p>It’s late enough in the afternoon that most of the students will likely have gone home for the day, a fact for which he’s thankful. He doesn’t want anyone to bear witness to what will likely be a colossal failure on his part. Taking a deep breath, he pushes the door open and steps inside. He finds it blissfully empty of people, and lets out the nervous breath he was holding. </p>
<p>The block of stone is right where Velda left it, the only change that there’s a rolling cart of tools at his disposal. The array of chisels and files is daunting, if he’s being honest. He doesn’t really know where to start, even though he can feel the stone calling to him. He reaches up, running his hand against it. It’s still warm; stone shouldn’t be warm like this. “Please… just… help me? Where do I even begin? I want to do you justice, my friend. I feel like you’ve earned that.” He takes a step back and draws in a deep breath.</p>
<p>Jaskier plucks the sketchbook from inside his doublet pocket and lays it down on the tray. It’s open to the page he drew the other day, the one of his Witcher in a fighting pose. But there’s something about it that doesn’t fit right. </p>
<p>Instead of carving, he grabs the nearest writing implement, which happens to be a quill and a bottle of ink. He takes a seat on the floor and begins to hum as he sketches. While he likes the fighting pose, the one he draws this time is softer. The lines of his Witcher are relaxed, his face more open. He’s standing with his arms crossed and the corner of his mouth lifted in the barest ghost of a smile. Jaskier can picture his golden eyes shining in the sunlight, giving away the amusement he’s trying to hide. He’s not sure how he knows how that would look, but he finds himself drawn to the sketch and he <i>knows</i> that this is what the statue is meant to look like. </p>
<p>He sets the quill and ink aside and gets to his feet. Another deep breath, and he picks up one of the chisels from the tray. “All right, my friend. Shall we begin?”</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>Jaskier is humming to himself as he works, snippets of lyrics leaving his lips as he starts to shape the face of his Witcher. It’s tedious, but there’s also something magical about slowly seeing his vision coming to life. In between melodies, he talks to the stone as he chips away at it. “I do wonder, though, what sort of life you’ve led. I can’t imagine that a Witcher’s life is easy. I wish I could be there, if you were real. You’d probably tell me to stay back, to keep me out of harm’s way.” He smiles and brushes away some of the stone dust that’s gathered. “But how else am I going to know what happened? Or how to capture your deeds in song? I don’t take you as the type to be forthcoming,” he scolds with a chuckle. “Perhaps if I--”</p>
<p>“Jaskier? What on earth are you doing here?” </p>
<p>Velda’s voice startles him out of his reverie. He glances over his shoulder and is surprised to see confusion on her face. “Uh, you told me I could come and work?”</p>
<p>“Yes, but it’s well after sunset. How long have you been here?” she asks, stepping closer. “I can see you’ve been quite busy. May I look?”</p>
<p>His instinctual answer is <i>no, you can’t,</i> but he reminds himself that this is Velda. No reason to be so possessive. “Uh, it’s the one in my sketchbook, there.” He feels his cheeks get hot as she picks up the book. Again, he has to fight down the urge to snatch it away from her and hold it to his chest. “Ambitious, I know.”</p>
<p>Velda frowns, but doesn’t say anything, at least at first. Finally, after a few beats of silence, she says, “Probably, but so far it seems like you’re doing well. I’d never guess this was your first time sculpting with a chisel. Do you think it would be easier to use clay, instead? It’ll be easier to fix mistakes that way.”</p>
<p>He bites his tongue and clenches his retort behind his teeth. The idea of using clay makes him angry, like it’s not good enough. Velda is the expert here, and he knows she’s right, but… it doesn’t change the feeling welling up inside of him. With a sigh, he sits down at the foot of the block. “I don’t doubt that, but.. I can’t explain it.”</p>
<p>“Try,” she says, sitting next to him. </p>
<p>“You’re probably going to think me insane.”</p>
<p>Velda touches his shoulder and smiles gently. “Jaskier, I already do. Frankly, for as long as I’ve known you, I doubt anything could surprise me.”</p>
<p>He swallows and stares down at his folded hands. “This block… it calls to me. It’s warm to the touch, and I just feel like I’m the one who should do something with it. And it’s him,” he explains, gesturing to his sketchbook where his Witcher stares up at him from the pages. “His face came to me one night when I was traveling, and hasn’t left me since. I feel as though...I owe it to him?” He cuts himself off with a strangled laugh. “There aren’t words to explain it, but I feel it here,” he says, gesturing to his chest. “It’s something I must do.”</p>
<p>Neither of them speak for a long moment. His heart is thudding in his chest; he’s waiting for her to stand and tell him he’s crazy, or that what he’s doing is ridiculous. He <i>knows</i>. But it doesn’t change the feeling he has, the pull and relentless need to create. </p>
<p>Finally, she says, “Okay, well. That’s… I don’t understand, exactly, but I also know you well enough to know that what you’re saying is true.” She shakes her head, huffing out a soft laugh. “Is there anything I can do to help?” </p>
<p>Jaskier looks at the stone block, already seeing the beginnings of his Witcher’s face forming. “I’m going to need to travel again at the end of the season. Will you keep him safe for me? I know this project is going to take a while, I have no doubt about that. But… I appreciate that you’re trusting me. It’s a leap of faith, I know. I can even offer you coin as recompense for your guard duty?”</p>
<p>Velda gives a belly laugh at that. “No, you daft fool. I told you, this marble has been sitting here for ages. It’s high time someone did something with it. And of course I will.” She gets to her feet, groaning at the noises her knees make. “Come on, now. I think you’ve worked enough for one evening. Let’s go grab some supper and you can tell me more about this muse of yours.”</p>
<p>Something lets loose in Jaskier at that. Relief and joy. The burning tug of emotions abates, at least for now. “You’re right. And I do believe it’s only fair, after all.” With one last glance back to the stone, he murmurs, “Tomorrow night, my friend. I will be here.”</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>That night, he dreams of his Witcher again. They’re laying in a bed, curled together for warmth. The fire has died out, but here, Jaskier doesn’t feel the cold. He’s laying on his Witcher’s chest and can hear the slow, steady beating of his heart. It should be disconcerting, that strangely slow, loud heartbeat, but instead it’s comforting. Familiar, almost.</p>
<p>The man’s eyes are closed and his loose silver-white hair is fanned out against the pillow. He looks to be asleep, relaxed and comfortable; Jaskier would hate to disturb him. It isn’t often that his Witcher is like this, so he savors it. </p>
<p>This time, he’s not afraid to trace the shape of the man’s cheekbones, or the soft curve of his lips. He trails a finger along the defined jaw and is gentle when he touches the scar over one eye. </p>
<p>“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, awed. </p>
<p>The man beneath him gives a pleased rumble but doesn’t open his eyes. Instead, he leans into the touch, so Jaskier is gently cradling his cheek. “Sleep, Jaskier. We have a long way to go tomorrow,” he finally mumbles, voice pitched low with sleep.</p>
<p>Jaskier shudders but does as he bids. He curls up further under the thin blanket and closes his eyes. The gentle thud in his ear is the perfect lullaby, lulling him to sleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he wakes again, he reaches for a body that isn’t there. His cheeks are wet and there’s a pang of longing in his chest that he’s never felt before. The barest traces of dawn are beginning to break through his window. He should go back to sleep before his classes begin, but he doesn’t want to go back. He’s scared that he’ll go back to that dream and will wake just as sad and lonely the next time.</p>
<p>He sits up in bed and draws his knees against his chest. <i>What</i> is <i>wrong</i> with him? Why is this man haunting him this way? “How can I miss you when I don’t know who you are?” he whispers into the darkness. But he does, oh, he does. He would equate this feeling to heartbreak, but he’s still not sure what he has to be heartbroken about.</p>
<p>Glancing over to his desk, he lets out a sigh. “Tell me of one of your adventures, will you? Let’s see… how about… have you ever fought a griffin?” He gets the feeling that the Witcher would be unimpressed by his question, which makes him smile. “I’m sorry I don’t know any other monsters! My first thought was those horrible drowner things that live near the coast. The ones that look like fish people? I bet you’d find those incredibly boring. Maybe I should do some more reading, hmm? Come up with something more interesting?”</p>
<p>That’s… actually not a bad idea. He climbs out of bed and grabs his other notebook, the one for composing. He hasn’t touched it in what feels like ages, but he’s got the urge. There’s a melody already floating through his head and he hums it as he grabs his quill. </p>
<p>Before he realizes it, Jaskier has a full sheet of music and lyrics sitting in front of him. He gets up and grabs his lute, making sure he’s got the sound he wants. Composing comes naturally to him-- it’s as easy as breathing-- but this is something else entirely. He’s never composed a song this quickly or thoroughly. A strange sense of deja vu comes over him. Surely nobody else has written a song about Witchers before, have they? He’d have to check. For now, he knows what he’s presenting for his class that afternoon.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A very, very special shoutout to my good friend (and beta extraordinaire) handwrittenhello, who helped me the with the lyrics in this chapter. You are a peach and a darling and I love your face a lot. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“All right, I have a new ditty to play for you all today. I’ll admit, it is perhaps not as polished as I would like, but the importance is that you listen to the progressions and the melody. Please take out your quills and ink and take notes.”</p>
<p>Jsskier takes a deep breath and begins to play. There’s a tightness in his chest that he can’t explain; he might chalk it up to nervousness. He just hopes his voice doesn’t waver as he sings. </p>
<p>
  <i>“When a humble bard, graced a ride along, with a Wolf Witcher, along came this song…”</i>
</p>
<p>He runs through all the verses that he came up with that morning, weaving a tale of adventure and intrigue, of elves and demons and a mysterious White Wolf who saves the day. It’s ridiculous, and probably a bit silly, but Jaskier can’t get it out of his head. He’s actually proud of this little song he made up about someone he doesn’t know. </p>
<p>He finishes with a flourish and strums his lute once more, taking a bow before facing his students. They’re all sitting there, a little slack-jawed and in awe. Surely it wasn’t that spell-binding? “Well?” he asks, setting his lute to the side of his podium. </p>
<p>“Master Jaskier? Why… why is your song about a Witcher? Have you met one?” asks Darius in the front row. </p>
<p>Jaskier swallows the <i>yes</i> on the tip of his tongue. “Of course not. While they exist, not many people have ever seen one in person. I’ve mostly heard stories of them on my travels through the Continent, but the deeds I heard of were quite impressive!”</p>
<p>Another student, a young lady with red hair, raises a hand and Jaskier calls on her. “But… you sing of this Wolf as if he were not a Witcher. Aren’t they just as monstrous as what they hunt?”</p>
<p>His lip curls up in a sneer for a moment before he manages to school his expression. He wants to snap his jaws and scream at her, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Hogwash and nonsense. Do any of you understand what the Continent would be like if there were no Witchers to hunt the monsters that lurk here?” When no one offers an answer, he continues. “Witchers fight things like griffins, and vampires, and all sorts of other creatures that you or I could never even hope to face. They risk their lives to protect humanity from unimaginable horrors, and what do they get in return? Scorn and deceit by the very people who need them the most.” Anger burns in his veins at the very idea of it. </p>
<p>“Sorry, Master Jaskier,” several voices chorus back at him.</p>
<p>He pinches the bridges of his nose. “It’s all right. But these are things you need to be mindful of. Music touches the soul, can speak to the heart in a way that words cannot. If you weave tales that tell of prejudice and fear, all you’re doing is spreading it and making it fester. We, as bards, storytellers of our time, have a power that few understand. Through us, hearts are changed and minds are educated, no matter what the subject might be.”</p>
<p>Silence follows his words, which he takes to mean their weight has started to sink in. Good. He pushes down the rest of his irritation and grabs his lute. “All right, now. Can anyone tell me what the chord progression I used was?”</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>“I don’t really understand what it was that made me so angry, but I couldn’t have them talk about you that way,” Jaskier explains quietly, as he continues working on his Witcher’s face. He’s using a small chisel and some sandpaper, taking great care to sculpt the cheekbones to his satisfaction. His Witcher’s beautiful face is starting to come together and Jaskier is delighted. “Would you like me to sing the song to you?” He waits a moment before he starts to sing, losing himself in the lyrics and the sound of scraping stone. When he finishes, he gives the stone a soft smile. “Now, what did you think? Three words or less?” </p>
<p>He gets no response, of course, but he imagines that the stone face would roll its eyes if it could. “Oh, you know you love it. Stop pretending like you don’t,” he teases as he focuses on the eyes. “Just you wait. I’ll write you a hundred more songs, ones that tell of your adventures out on the Path. That’s what you call it, right?” His words taper off and he starts humming to himself. He has to admit, the song is pretty damn catchy. </p>
<p>Jaskier isn’t sure how long he’s there, working, but eventually his eyes start to burn and his muscles start to burn from the repetitive motions. How does Velda do this all day? “Well, my friend, it’s nice to see your face is coming around. Perhaps soon you might even look like a person!” </p>
<p>His laugh tapers off and he reaches up, brushing the tips of his fingers against the outline of the lips of the statue. “If only,” he starts to say, but stops himself. The words sit heavy in his gut and he turns away. Tears are beginning to pool in his eyes and he feels… strangely bereft. </p>
<p>That night, he dreams again of his Witcher. They’re walking this time, or rather, Jaskier is walking and his Witcher is perched on a horse. She’s a beautiful chestnut mare, so familiar, and yet… her name keeps escaping him. He has his lute in hand and he’s strumming it, making up nonsense lyrics as he dances a little jig along the road. </p>
<p>The Witcher’s face remains impassive, but Jaskier can see the mirth dancing in his eyes. They don’t talk, but there’s a warmth that spreads through the bard’s entire being at the way the Witcher looks down at him. It feels… right. And good. </p>
<p>
  <i>“His silver sword flashing so quick, with eyes bright in amber and gold, bravest of all in Kaer Morhen, whose actions and deeds must be told!"</i>
</p>
<p>“It’s not your best,” the Witcher mutters, his lips twitching. Like he’s fighting off a smile. </p>
<p>Jaskier shrugs and strums another chord, purposefully ending it in a twang. “No, but it’s what you’re getting. Perhaps you can earn better lyrics with a better attitude,” he says with a haughty sniff, but his own lips keep threatening to lift into a smile. “Okay, maybe you’re right, it’s a bit shit, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Hmm,” the Witcher hums back, but the sound is… pleased. Maybe even amused. </p>
<p>Jaskier could listen to it all day. </p>
<p>This time, when he wakes, he can’t help the silly smile on his face. </p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>Time marches on. Jaskier begins to lose track of his days between classes and nights in the studio. The sculpting is painstaking work; he understands now why Velda insisted on him choosing a different medium. Still, he’s quite proud of himself. He can see the beginnings of his Witcher’s form taking shape. He adds more sketches into his book as well. Sketches of the Witcher fighting, talking to his horse, amongst others. There’s even one memorable one in the back of what he imagines his Witcher looks like in the throes of ecstasy.</p>
<p>It might be his favorite. </p>
<p>His dreams have gotten more vivid, too. Almost every night, despite being tired down to the very marrow of his bones, he dreams of the Witcher. They’re flashes of what Jaskier would call memory, but he’s never even seen a Witcher before, let alone walked beside one. Some nights are filled with soft moments, while others wake him with a racing heart and a sweaty brow. His best ones, though, are the ones where he dreams of his Witcher’s body pressed against his, wringing pleasure from the both of them. While he loves those dreams in the moment, he wakes oddly shaken, like someone is missing from his bed. It leaves him feeling lost and alone.</p>
<p>Priscilla continues to bug him, but he brushes her off. One day, they’re having lunch in one of the taverns in the city when she says, “Okay, Dandelion, enough is enough. Out with it. You’ve become a shut-in this whole season, and you haven’t once asked me for a tumble in the sheets. What is going on with you?” He hates that nickname from anyone else, a leftover from his time performing with her in their university days. </p>
<p>He gulps down a hearty swallow of his ale while he tries to formulate a response. “I…” he starts to say, but the words sit like ash in his mouth. It’s that same wrong, sideways feeling that he had with Velda, like he’s divulging a secret that isn’t his. “It’s not as scandalous as you’re imagining, I’m sure. I’m just working on something with Velda, the sculpting professor.”</p>
<p>“You sculpt?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.</p>
<p>It rankles him, but he tempers it with a deep breath through his nose. “Sometimes. I’m a lover of all the arts, you know me. I was just inspired while I was out traveling this past season.” There, that should satisfy her curiosity.</p>
<p>Or he might have miscalculated. “Oh! Inspired by what? Was it a person? I know you and your muses, you scoundrel. Tell me everything!” Priscilla says, grinning widely. Her eyes are shining and Jaskier knows that she’s already composing sonnets in her head. “Are they beautiful? Where did you meet them?”</p>
<p>“It’s not a ‘them’, Priscilla. It’s… a concept, I suppose.” Every word out of his mouth feels wrong, tastes like poison as he says it. His heart is pounding against his ribcage and that same strange tug flares in his chest. Fuck. “A concept of unconventional heroes and folklore.”</p>
<p>She gives him a sly look. “Is that why your new song is about Witchers?” </p>
<p>“What?” he asks, dumbly.</p>
<p>“Oh, come now. Surely you don’t think your students have kept it quiet? Why, I heard three of them discussing it over a pint just the other day. It’s such a novel idea.” She gestures grandly and her smile turns a bit manic. “I want to hear it! Perhaps we could even play it together? Maybe this time you’ll accompany me at my weekly performance at the Prancing Pony.”</p>
<p>Jaskier scratches his chin. There’s still a part of him that wants to keep the song close, guard it jealously like a dragon with its hoard, but he <i>did</i> spend most of the last couple of classes explaining why it was so important for people to hear songs like his. <i>Hearts and minds,</i> he reminds himself. “All right. Just for one week. Why don’t you come by my rooms later and I’ll play it for you. And I’ll copy the sheet music for you to practice with.”</p>
<p>Priscilla nods, and wisely changes the subject. </p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>“What are these?” she asks later that day. </p>
<p>Jaskier’s heart jumps into his throat; he meant to put his sketches away before she came by, but got caught up with a new idea instead. “What?” he asks, desperately trying to keep his voice even. </p>
<p>“These sketches-- they’re amazing. Who is this?” She holds up the one that he had finished that afternoon. It’s his Witcher, resting in a bathtub. Nothing is visible, clearly, but it feels like Priscilla is intruding on a private moment. </p>
<p>“I...made him up. He’s… the hero in my songs I’ve been composing. I did research on Witchers when I came back to Oxenfurt, and he’s my muse.” He hates the way his voice goes soft, but the feeling wells up before he can stop it. “He’s quite handsome, isn’t he?” He doesn’t mention the statue. Something tells him she would think him mad.</p>
<p>She studies the picture for another moment before setting it back down on the desk; the knot in his chest loosens. “I suppose, but that’s a bit odd, don’t you think? I understand making up a character for a performance or a play, but to inspire songs? Are you sure you didn’t get cursed while you were out in the wilds of Velen?” </p>
<p>Jaskier sniffs at her. “I’m sure. Now, do you want to keep criticizing me, or do you want to learn the song for your performance this week?” </p>
<p>She rolls her eyes but sits beside him on the bed. He walks her through the chords and melody, and teaches her the lyrics. They play through many times, until Jaskier is satisfied with the way they sound. It’s good, better than he hoped, actually.</p>
<p>“Here’s the copy of the sheet music for you, and we can--mmph!” </p>
<p>Whatever he was going to say is cut off by Priscilla’s insistent mouth on his. She wraps her arms around his neck and presses their bodies together. The crush of her breasts against his chest, her smell filling his nose as they kiss--everything adds up to create a heady warmth pooling in his gut at how close she is. It’s been so long since he’s felt another human against him, underneath him. The way they fit together is like an old shirt-- comfortable and familiar. </p>
<p>Their instruments are forgotten as he presses her against the bed. His head swims with the heat of their kiss. They start to rock together, his cock fattening up in his breeches. He pulls back and lets out a breathy moan.</p>
<p>Until he glances over at his desk.</p>
<p>Cold dread trickles down his spine and pools in his stomach, where it sinks like a stone. He pulls back and takes a deep, slow, breath. “Fuck…” </p>
<p>“Jaskier? What’s wrong?” </p>
<p>He doesn’t… he can’t find the words to explain to her what this feeling is, why the idea of sleeping with someone else makes him want to be sick. Like he’s unfaithful to someone he doesn’t even know, that doesn’t even exist. “I… don’t feel well, suddenly. Perhaps it was the wine at lunch. I’m sorry, Priscilla.”</p>
<p>He must look terrible, because she nods and grabs her lute. “Do you need me to stay? I can fetch something from the herbalist. Wine never does this to you.” She reaches out and brushes her hand against his forehead. The contact makes him shudder. “You don’t feel feverish. That’s good, at least.”</p>
<p>“I think some rest might be what I need. I’ll drink some tea and have some crackers, see if that settles my stomach.” He tries to smile but it feels more like a grimace. “Please forgive me? I didn’t--” </p>
<p>“Hush. Everything is fine, Dandelion. It is what it is.” Priscilla smiles and puts her lute over her shoulder. “Let me know how you’re feeling in the morning. Perhaps tomorrow we can <i>practice</i> again?” she asks, intent clear in her voice. The sound makes him shudder again, and not because he’s interested in the prospect. </p>
<p>He nods, not trusting himself to speak. </p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>Jaskier waits, long enough to be sure she’s gone, before he heads down to the studio. His heart is thundering in his chest, but at least the nausea has abated. A hot, sick feeling fills his stomach as he makes his way to where the block of stone is kept, where the face of his Witcher is staring back at him. It’s that blank look, the tight set of the statue’s unfinished shoulders that set him off.</p>
<p>“Why? Why are you haunting me so? Every night I dream of you; every day my thoughts are consumed by you. I talk to you, sketch you, break my back to draw you out of this stone! And for what?” he screams, voice echoing off the walls. Hot tears streak down his face but he can’t stop. “What have I done to deserve this? Why me?”</p>
<p>He collapses at the base of the stone and cries, sobs until there’s nothing left. His body hurts and his heart feels heavy. Sitting up, he wipes his face and stares up at the Witcher. He leans close and rests his face against the stone. It should be cold, he knows, but it’s warm. It feels almost like... the brush of a tender hand. One that feels strangely familiar. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, my friend. I’m just… I don’t know what to do. I feel as if I’m losing my mind.” He sniffles and takes a deep breath. “I wasn’t lying, though. I can’t get you out of my head, asleep and or awake. I don’t understand. I…” he stops himself, feeling a bit silly. Confessing his imagined transgression to a block of stone seems a bit ridiculous, but here he is. “Priscilla is… a friend, but also a bedmate at times. It’s just companionship. I miss that, but it feels wrong.” Jaskier lets out a shaky laugh and feels fresh tears pooling in his eyes. “Why does it feel wrong, like I’m going to hurt you if I do?”</p>
<p>The stone doesn’t reply, but Jaskier could swear he feels the slightest pulse against his cheek. It’s erratic and slow, which is why he chalks it up to his imagination. There’s so much feeling running through him, he’s not surprised he’s making it up. “Still, taking my anger out on you seems unfair. You’re not the cause of my problems. My imagination is just vivid, at times. That's why I make such a good performer, don’t you think?” </p>
<p>All of the fight and anger begin to drain out of him, leaving him tired and feeling hollowed out. He should get to his feet, should trudge back to his room and collapse in his bed for the night. Instead, he feels his eyes close as he lets himself believe that there’s the beginnings of a heartbeat lulling him to sleep.</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>That night, he dreams again. He’s laying at the base of the statue, but instead of stone, it’s flesh and blood. The Witcher looks down at him, gaze soft and pained. “I don’t mean to hurt you like this, Jaskier. I promise.” The Witcher’s voice is rough and he stumbles through the words, like his mouth is having to remember how to form them. Jaskier’s face is cradled in a warm palm and the Witcher’s thumb wipes away the tear tracks beneath his eyes. “Soon.”</p>
<p>“What does that mean? Please,” Jaskier begs, turning into the touch. He yearns for more, for this touch that he knows but doesn’t at the same time. “Please give me something.” </p>
<p>The Witcher doesn’t speak again, his lips turned down. His golden eyes go from soft to haunted in an instant. He freezes, in the pose that Jaskier is all too familiar with. It’s the same one that stares up at him when he looks into his sketchbook for reference. </p>
<p>Jaskier gets to his feet and wraps his arms around his Witcher’s neck, pressing close. He tilts his head up and presses a soft kiss to stone lips and rests his cheek against his Witcher’s. There’s an ache in his chest, and he can’t help the tears that have started to fall again. They fall onto the stone of the statue and Jaskier can’t be bothered to wipe them away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It takes Jaskier a few days to come back to the studio. He awoke in the early hours of the morning, stiff and aching, and not just in his bones. Everything about him felt heavy and worn, and still does two days later. He requests a personal day from the dean and cancels his classes, just lies in bed and tries not to cry.</p>
<p>He knows now what the feeling in his chest is. He’s pining for something, for someone. He’s got the equivalent of a crush on someone who doesn’t even exist. He’d get mad and curse it, except… despite everything, it feels <i>right.</i> However, that puts him in a curious predicament, doesn’t it? Normally when he pines like this, he writes sheafs upon sheafs of songs and poetry about the object of his fancy until the feeling is purged through words and melody. </p>
<p>So, he decides in that moment, that’s what he’ll do now. He’ll write songs of his Witcher’s adventures and finish the statue, hopefully ridding himself of this burning behind his ribs. Then, when spring comes, he can head out and travel without the ghost of his Witcher hovering over him. </p>
<p>At least, that’s what he tries to convince himself of. Whether it’ll work, he’s not sure, but he can pretend for a time.</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>“Back already?” Etta asks, motioning for Jaskier to hand her the slip of paper he’s clutching. “More information about Witchers?” </p>
<p>Jaskier clears his throat and says, “Uh, no. Not this time. I’m actually looking for some kind of bestiary? So perhaps it’s adjacent to my research.”</p>
<p>Etta eyes him with an unamused look. “So, yes, then. Fine, give me a moment. Wait here and I’ll fetch you something to get you started.” She ducks out behind the desk and heads off into the stacks, leaving Jaskier standing there. </p>
<p>He waits a few beats, glancing to see who’s in the library before Etta returns with a small stack of books. “Here,” she says, shoving the stack at him. “There’s an actual bestiary there, as well as some academic studies about griffins and wyverns. I think there might also be a ballad or two about trolls, but I don’t know how useful you’ll find them. I have a couple more I can grab, but you get settled with those first, all right?” </p>
<p>All Jaskier can do is nod, at first. Then, he asks, “Can I check these out and bring them back to my room? I… left my sketchbook there.” </p>
<p>She gives him that same unimpressed look as before. “Master Pankratz, do you understand that some of these tomes are older than the two of us combined? I can’t just let you bring them back to your quarters where I can’t be sure what condition they’ll be returned to me. Would you like me to hold them until you return from retrieving it?”</p>
<p>“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll just… make my notes here.” He’d rather be tucked away in his room, but he can’t argue with Etta. Plus, he knows that she’s letting him use books and scrolls that aren’t available to students. Count his blessings, and all that. “Also… do you have a book on dreams?”</p>
<p>“Probably. I’ll fetch that as well.”</p>
<p>Jaskier nods once before heading to a free table towards the back of the study room. He grabs the first book and begins to read, taking notes about some of the more interesting creatures he finds in the bestiaries. </p>
<p>Well, no wonder the Witcher he imagines is always covered in scars. These things sound terrifying. He knew that more mundane things like drowners existed; he saw his fair share of them when he was on the coast. But things like wyverns and royal griffins and rotfiends… he had no idea that such a vast array of creatures existed on the Continent. That same burning fire in his gut churns, and before he knows it, he’s got several sheets of paper filled with information. Perhaps now he’ll be able to write proper songs about a Witcher’s adventures. </p>
<p>Etta startles him out of his thoughts when she drops another book on the table in front of him. “Here’s the book on dreams you wanted. I wouldn’t put much stock in this. Dream interpretation is a bit of a muddy subject to navigate.” </p>
<p>“I’m sure the mages of Aretuza might have a thing to say about that,” Jaskier jokes, picking up the book and thumbing through it. </p>
<p>Etta sniffs and crosses her arms. “Well, then one of those hoity-toity bastards can come down to my library and tell me themselves. Also, that one you can check out, if you want. Good luck.”</p>
<p>Once he’s finished with the books she gave him, he drops them on the desk and heads back to his room, dream book under his arm. Muddy subject or not, maybe it’ll help him figure out what all these strange dreams of the Witcher mean.</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>“And then I spent three hours thumbing through that god-awful book for nothing,” he gripes as he wipes away some of the stone dust on the Witcher’s shoulders. He’s got the beginnings of them started, finally finished with the face and neck. The work is painstaking and hard, but he has to admit that there’s something very satisfying about seeing his Witcher emerge from the block of stone. “I don’t… mind the dreams, exactly. I just wish I understood what they were about.”</p>
<p>He chips away another piece, humming under his breath. “I get the feeling that you’d probably laugh at me for looking up dream interpretation. Would you know someone who could help me?” He pauses, a strange feeling bubbling in his gut. “I’m sure you would. You seem like someone who would make friends with sorceresses and elven sages.” Even as the words leave his lips, a hollow pit forms in his stomach. </p>
<p>Probably best to change the subject. “At any rate, I suppose I’ll just have to adjust. Maybe I’ll start writing them down, so I can tell them to you. What do you think of that, my friend?” </p>
<p>The statue stares stoically back at him, but Jaskier could almost swear there's the faintest hint of a smile on its lips. Which is impossible, considering it’s stone, but… well. He’ll just keep that to himself. </p>
<p>“Should I tell you about the naughty ones too? Just between us, you know. You’re a very beautiful man, and I am a very lonely bard.” He takes a piece of sandpaper and wipes down the shoulder he just created, smoothing the surface. “Lonely by choice, but, I’ll tell you a secret, my friend.” His cheeks heat as he leans closer and whispers in the statue’s ear, “I think about you, you know. When I touch myself. It’s your hands I picture, your face above mine. Tell me, Witcher, what do you think of that? Would you touch me, if you could? Put these dreams to shame?” </p>
<p>The only reason Jaskier doesn’t start rutting against the statue is because he knows he could be caught by a student, or worse, Velda. He considers it, though. Just the idea of his Witcher, even encased in stone, seeing him stroke his cock is heady and tempting. </p>
<p>“Gods, what’s wrong with me?” he mutters to himself, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Once he feels like he’s not going to burst into flames, he grabs the file and chisel and gets back to work. Anything to distract him from the burning in his belly, the need to show the Witcher what he thinks of him.</p>
<p>Maybe there really is something wrong with him.</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>Work continues as the semester draws to a close. Jaskier has been hemming and hawing about what to do when spring comes. Part of him itches to get back onto the road, but a steadily-growing part of him wants to stay here. Needs to, if he’s honest. Every time he thinks about leaving his half-finished statue, he feels like he might be sick. The idea of his Witcher standing alone in the studio, covered by a sheet and collecting dust all season, is too much for him to bear. Which is ridiculous, because a statue wouldn’t know the difference.</p>
<p>But Jaskier does. </p>
<p>“I could work on it while you’re away,” Velda offers over a drink in her office. </p>
<p>That idea makes him almost as sick as leaving does, but he doesn’t tell her that. “You have so much other work to be doing, there’s no need for that. I just… feel a bit silly that I’ve gotten so attached to a statue.” </p>
<p>Velda sips her wine and hums. “You wouldn’t be the first, and you won’t be the last. Think about how attached you are to your lute. A lot of care and time went into being able to play it like you do, so now you’re attached. I think this statue is the same way. Granted, you’re making amazing time working on it. Especially for someone as novice as you are.”</p>
<p>Jaskier feels his cheeks heat. “Determination and stubbornness, I suppose.”</p>
<p>“Something like that,” she says with a quirk of an eyebrow. “But whatever you decide, my friend, I will keep your treasure safe.”</p>
<p>She shoos him out of her office, after that, but her words stick with him. <i>Treasure,</i> she said. A strange choice in words, but she wasn’t wrong.</p>
<p>He mulls over it the rest of the day, still unable to come to a decision when he lies in his bed that night. He’s looking at the sketch he keeps in his pocket; the lines have faded from wear, but his Witcher’s face still looks back at him. </p>
<p>“What would you do, my friend? Would you leave off on adventures unknown? Or would you stay, until you see this through?” he whispers, closing his eyes and resting the sketch delicately on his chest. Sleep isn’t far away, and Jaskier drifts.</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>They’re in a tavern, some backwoods place where the ale is shit and it’s best not to ask what’s in the soup. It smells like piss and sweat and stale air, even to Jaskier’s human nose. His Witcher must be in agony, though it doesn’t show on his face.</p>
<p>“We could leave, camp in the woods? If it’s too much here?” Jaskier whispers, leaning into his Witcher. He’s careful not to be too touchy in public, only because it tends to invite trouble. </p>
<p>The Witcher grunts and his face pinches just a little. “The contract said to meet the alderman here.. It’ll be fine,” he says through gritted teeth.</p>
<p>“Well, if you’re sure. I could also inquire about an inn? Or whether this fine establishment has any rooms available. Not that it would be a first choice, but needs must, and all that,” Jaskier rambles, waiting for his companion to answer him. He’s just about to start up again when the Witcher finally speaks.</p>
<p>“Fine. Do what you want.”</p>
<p>It doesn’t really answer his question, but Jaskier knows that’s probably as good as he’s going to get. He huffs out a breath as he walks to the counter and talks to the man behind the bar. He manages to haggle out a room, handing over the coin before he starts searching out his companion. </p>
<p>He finds the Witcher huddled in the corner, talking to a man whom he assumes is the alderman. The man’s face is pinched, and the Witcher doesn’t look pleased either. As he walks towards them, he can hear the snippets of conversation.</p>
<p>“...it sounds like a werewolf.”</p>
<p>“No, it’s probably just a pack of wolves causing an issue. I’m sure it will be an easy task for you, Witcher. Surely not worth the pay you’re asking.”</p>
<p>“Hmm,” the Witcher grunts, arms crossed over his chest. It always makes him look so much more imposing like that, but Jaskier knows he won’t harm the man,no matter how angry he gets at them trying to cheat him out of what is rightfully his. “If it’s just a pack of wolves, then get one of your hunters to do it. I’m not interested.” </p>
<p>The alderman’s face starts turning an unattractive shade of red. “Now, see here, we posted that notice to get a Witcher, and if you’re too much of a coward to--”</p>
<p>“To what, my good sir? Ask for details, only to be stiffed by a man too stingy to follow through on his promise? I took the liberty of grabbing your notice off the board in Lindenvale,” Jaskier interrupts, pulling out the paper with a flourish. He learned early on to keep them handy just for moments like this. “Clearly, it says here that you suspect it’s something larger than a wolf, and that it’s gotten not only your sheep, but also the shepherd that tends them. So unless that’s changed since we journeyed from Lindenvale, I suggest you stop trying to cheat this fine Witcher out of his proper due.”</p>
<p>The alderman gapes at him, the color draining from his face. His fists clench at his sides and his face screws up into a glower. “Fine, if you bring me the head of whatever it is, I’ll pay you the five hundred crowns. Be quick about it, too,” he snaps, spitting on the ground beside the Witcher’s feet before turning on his heel.</p>
<p>They watch him stalk out of the tavern, and the Witcher says, “You didn’t have to do that.”</p>
<p>“No, I didn’t. But it’s done now, and I got us a room. Now you can go kill this imaginary wolf pack that’s actually a werewolf, get paid, and we can be out of this shithole by tomorrow.” Jaskier sniffs and glances around. “This place isn’t even worth pulling my lute out for.” </p>
<p>“Hmm,” the Witcher hums again, but this time it’s pleased. Jaskier has gotten very good at deciphering his companion’s grunts and hums. “I believe that’s fair. Are you going to write a song calling this place a dump, too?” </p>
<p>Jaskier is already pulling out his notebook. “You bet Melitele’s sweet thighs I am. About how the alderman is a cheat who has no sense of propriety and smells like the back end of a barn. It’ll keep me busy while you hunt.” </p>
<p>The Witcher’s mouth quirks up just the tiniest bit before he nods and walks off to do just that. </p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>Jaskier wakes, still clutching the sketch in his hands. This one felt like a moment from another life, which confuses him. Perhaps he should go and see one of the mages in Novigrad? He’s beginning to wonder if he’s cursed. </p>
<p>He gets up and goes to his desk, grabbing his notebook, the one he uses for composing. He starts to jot down the remnants of the dream, laughing at the idea of writing a song about this made-up alderman. Maybe he’ll even share it with his Witcher later. “Backside of a barn does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” he asks the sketch on the table. He gets the distinct feeling that the face staring back at him would be chuckling, if it could.</p>
<p>Which prompts Jaskier to put aside his composition and grab his charcoal. It’s a rough sketch, not as refined as his others, but he’s in love with it immediately. It’s his Witcher with his head tossed back, mouth open with what he assumes would be a rusty, low belly laugh. It makes him ache to see it. </p>
<p>If he’s cursed, at least the dreams aren’t harmful--as long as he doesn’t count the lonely well behind his ribs where his heart should be.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Classes end for the winter semester, and Jaskier is up to his elbows in final exams for about a week after. This is the part of teaching he hates the most, but knowing that he’ll be free to work on his Witcher after he finishes grading  buoys him through it all. He complains to the sketches in his book about half-assed essays and middling compositions that he’s glad he never has to hear again. It helps, having his companion there, even if it’s just on paper.</p>
<p>He still hasn’t made his mind up over whether or not he was staying for spring , but thankfully the dean hasn’t hounded him for an answer. He puts it in the back of his mind and instead focuses on working more on the statue. He’s got much more free time, so he’s making good time. Unnaturally good, but he’s trying not to think too hard about it. Instead, he loses himself in the chipping of stone, of sanding down rough edges, and sculpting the stone into the semblance of the man in his mind’s eye.</p>
<p>“I think… I think the road is calling me,” he whispers to the Witcher, voice soft. Tears prick the edge of his vision and he doesn’t understand the well of sadness that opens up inside of him. “I hope you understand. I will write you songs, and I’ll sketch you every single day. You’ll be with me, always.” He wipes his eyes against his sleeve. “You won’t be lonely… Velda said she’d keep an eye on you. My treasure, she called you. You are, you know.” He reaches up and traces the shape of the Witcher’s lips with his fingertips. “I wish I could bring you with me, my friend.”</p>
<p>He spends the rest of the evening fighting back tears as he carves and shapes and chips away. He goes until his hands cramp and his muscles ache from the unfamiliar movements. It feels wrong to leave his statue this way, unfinished and alone. But Jaskier knows he must go. “I’ll gather tales of my adventures to tell you when I get back. We can compose together, if you’re amenable,” he says with a watery chuckle.</p>
<p>Sculpting until he can’t anymore, Jaskier feels guilty when he covers the statue with the sheet for the night. A brief thought of laying down and sleeping at its feet comes to him, but he doesn’t. It’s not the first time he’s entertained the thought, but tonight the urge is stronger, more potent. </p>
<p>That night, he doesn’t dream.</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>Winter gives way into spring, and before he knows it, Jaskier is packing up his office and his quarters. He places the things he won’t need into storage under lock and key, and stands in the bare room of the dorm he’s stayed in for the last few months. He swallows around the lump in his throat and the sick feeling in his stomach. </p>
<p>The dean assured him he could come back whenever he liked; apparently Jaskier’s classes are more successful than anyone would have thought. That settles something in him and he thanks the man for the offer. He tells him he’ll be back for the winter season, but there’s something tugging at the back of his mind that makes him almost bite his tongue. </p>
<p>With heavy footfalls he heads to the studio, having one more goodbye to say before he heads out of the city. Once inside, he checks to make sure no one is there before walking over to where his statue is waiting. He pulls the sheet off and steps close. “Well, this is goodbye for now, my friend. I will be back for you, I promise,” he whispers. He leans up to kiss the stone lips he made, and wants to cry when the stone feels… flat, and cold. It has always felt warm and real, but now it’s dull. </p>
<p>The sick feeling churns in his stomach. “Please don’t be angry, my Witcher. I swear, I will come back to you. How could I not?” Jaskier runs his hand along the statue’s jawline, memorizing the shape, though he knows he could never forget it. </p>
<p>“I knew I would find you here,” a familiar voice rings out into the empty space, startling Jaskier out of his skin. Velda stands at his back, hands folded behind her. “A rather emotional goodbye, wouldn’t you say?”</p>
<p>Jaskier scrubs the tears from his face and feels his cheeks go hot at being caught. “You must think me so foolish. But I can’t help it.”</p>
<p>Velda hums and rests her hand on his arm. “Jaskier, I told you already. You’ve invested so much of yourself into this piece, and he is stunning. And… well, anyway, it doesn’t matter. I would never hold this against you. I’m proud of your progress, and as I said, I’ll keep him safe for you.”</p>
<p>He notices the shift in her words, but doesn’t comment. He’s glad that someone else sees his Witcher as more than just an art project, or an obsession. “He is, isn’t he? I thank you again for taking care of...of him. He means quite a lot.” He reaches up and lets his fingers trace his Witcher’s jaw one more time. “See, my friend? Velda will keep you safe until I return.”</p>
<p>The statue says nothing, of course, but Jaskier is overjoyed that the stone feels less flat now. It eclipses the feeling in his chest, if only for a moment. He covers the statue with the sheet again and turns to Velda, who is still watching him carefully. “Well, I suppose this is goodbye for now. I wasn’t sure if you still had students to mind, so I didn’t--”</p>
<p>She doesn’t speak, but instead wraps him in a hug. He returns it, hoping to convey just how grateful he is to her. </p>
<p>It’s enough, for now.</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>The first week out on the road is rough, Jaskier can admit. His mind keeps straying back to Oxenfurt and his songs reflect the deep sadness he feels. The longing is back, stronger than ever. He’s sorry to say that he’s been thrown out of more than one inn for his songs being too melancholy. It’s not entirely his fault he’s pining. </p>
<p>Okay, it’s entirely his fault he’s pining. </p>
<p>It doesn’t matter how many ballads he writes, or how many sketches he makes, it’s not the same. He needs a distraction. </p>
<p>He’s heading down to Maribor through Vizima when he decides to start collecting stories. As he’s passing through villages and towns, he looks at the notices posted on their boards. Sometimes villagers are eager to tell him tales of when a Witcher came to town, while others are eager to boot him out on his ass for even mentioning the word. He uses the notices to try to track one down; he can only imagine what sort of stories he could get out of an actual Witcher.</p>
<p>He writes them down, and every night he regales his sketches of his Witcher of the things he learns while on the road. “Can you believe it? I read a notice today that talked of a basilisk! I remember some of the details from the book that Etta let me borrow-- they sound terrifying. A lizard and a bird...I wonder if it would sound like a chicken when struck down?” he jokes as he scribbles a doodle in his book. It’s a rather terrible approximation of what he thinks a basilisk would look like. “I bet you would be able to tell me.” </p>
<p>Jaskier lets out a sigh as he puts his quill down. “I do wonder if I’ll ever get to meet an actual Witcher. You lot are hard to find, you know.” He smiles, a bit sad at the edges. “I know why, of course, but that doesn’t mean I can’t. Where there’s a will there’s a way, and all that.” </p>
<p>That night, for the first time in what feels like forever, he dreams of his Witcher again. </p>
<p>He’s tracing scars as they lay in bed together. His Witcher’s newest acquisition is bandaged on his bicep. “I hope the stitching holds. I know that’s your sword arm, I don’t want it to pull,” Jaskier murmurs as he leans down to kiss the bandage as soft as he can. </p>
<p>The Witcher grunts, but he is relaxed and Jaskier can almost feel the content rolling off him in waves. “You did fine. You’ve learned well,” the man replies, letting out a deep breath. “Of course, I wouldn’t have this wound if you hadn’t insisted on following me.”</p>
<p>Jaskier lets out a squeak of outrage, thumping his Witcher’s chest. “Excuse me, but how else am I going to immortalize your deeds in song? How was I supposed to know that the damned basilisk was going to decide I made a tastier treat than you?” He sniffs, but in the end he can’t stop from smiling. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a distraction to you.”</p>
<p>The Witcher sighs but pulls him closer. “Just be more careful next time.”</p>
<p>Jaskier happily snuggles down and basks in the warmth of the body next to his. He takes a deep breath and feels his eyes closing.</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>His desire to meet a Witcher finally comes to finally comes to fruition, but completely by accident. He’s sitting in a tavern in Flotsam, tuning his lute, when in walks an absolute mountain of a man. A hush falls over the meager crowd and the man looks away. Jaskier tries not to stare, but he can’t help it.</p>
<p>The man is handsome, but unconventionally so. He’s got three jagged scars down his face, and Jaskier finds that it doesn’t detract from his looks. There are two very large and opposing swords on his back, and his medallion is stamped in the shape of a snarling wolf, the very same design that graces pages of Jaskier’s sketchbook. His armor looks a little worn and worse for wear, but what else could one expect of a witcher?</p>
<p>Jaskier is practically bouncing on his stool. He goes to get up and walk over to him, but the barkeep yells out, “What the fuck do you think I’m payin’ you for, bard? Get to work!” </p>
<p>“Fine, fine,” Jaskier grumbles, finishing with his tuning. One quick set and then he’ll go over there and ask him what he wants. There’s a strange humming in his chest at the very idea of finally talking to a witcher. He immediately launches into “Toss a Coin” and watches the crowd as a guise to watch the witcher.</p>
<p>After a verse or two, the witcher looks up from his mug of ale and their eyes meet. Amber-gold bores into Jaskier, and the witcher cocks his head, a strange look on his face. Jaskier is overcome with such a strong sense of deja vu that his finger slips on the strings of his lute. He keeps playing, trying to hurry through the set as quickly as he can. </p>
<p>It’s certainly not his best performance, but the locals don’t seem to care. The barkeep seems pleased enough that he doesn’t complain when Jaskier motions to take a break. He springs from his seat, knocking over the stool, and starts looking for the witcher. Surely the man couldn’t have disappeared that quickly?</p>
<p>Apparently so, since he’s nowhere to be seen. Jaskier feels his heart drop to his feet. “Excuse me, the witcher that was here? Did he leave?” he asks the barkeep.</p>
<p>The man frowns and continues cleaning the counter. “Sure did. About fifteen minutes ago. We’ve been having trouble with a wraith up near the church. Why, are you going after him?” </p>
<p>He thinks about it for half a second, but then the barkeep adds, “You promised me a two hour set, bard. Otherwise I’m charging you double for the room for the inconvenience.”</p>
<p>Jaskier scowls. Everything in his bones is telling him to get up and follow, but he did promise. Hopefully the witcher will come back and then Jaskier can ask all the questions that are burning in his chest. “Fine, fine. I won’t short you, sir. I’m not that type of fellow.”</p>
<p>The barkeep snorts and waves him off. Jaskier goes back to the stool and grabs his lute. Whittling away the time playing his songs isn’t the worst thing he could be doing. He’ll  just have to keep an eye on the door to see if the witcher walks back in. He adds a bit of a flourish to his next song, trying to keep his spirits up and hoping that the fine people in the establishment will offer some tips.</p>
<p>No such luck on either count. No one is feeling generous with their coin, and the witcher never walks back into the tavern. Jaskier feels bereft; maybe he should have gotten up and ran after him. He packs his lute away into its case and heads upstairs to the room he’s rented for the night.  “A fine mess that was,” he grumbles as he shuts the door. “You’d probably have been in his way. And there’s no telling if he would have even answered your questions anyway!” He flops down dramatically onto the bed and covers his face with his arm. </p>
<p>Something tells him the dark-haired witcher wouldn’t have dismissed him outright. He can’t explain why, but the moment is lost now. Flotsam isn’t a big village, but he’s not keen on heading out into the darkness to look for a witcher he doesn’t know. </p>
<p>He grabs his sketchbook and thumbs through the pages, sighing. “I’m sorry, my friend. A missed opportunity to learn more about your school. I suppose we’ll have to make do with what we have, won’t we?” he murmurs as he flips through the book. The new drawings have started taking a different shape, one of his Witcher wounded, one a shaded sketch of what his face might look in the firelight. In a spare corner, he adds a rough sketch of the witcher he’d seen in the tavern that night. </p>
<p>“Perhaps you’d have been brothers, hmm? Wolves of the same pack? I wouldn’t want you to be lonely, my friend.” Sadly, he knows that witchers are few and far between, but for a moment, he can pretend. </p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>He’s stopped at one of the sign posts, debating whether to head up to Rinde or to try and head back south towards Vengerberg, when he happens to catch sight of a merchant cart heading down the road. He flags the man down; he needs to replenish his supplies before setting out again. “Good sir! What good fortune you’ve happened along. Might I inspect your wares?” Jaskier calls out. </p>
<p>The man looks just as happy to see him, pulling his cart to a stop. “Of course, good sir.” </p>
<p>Jaskier looks over the bits of cloth and goes straight for the provisions. He’s running low on salted meat and trail mix. He also peruses some of the books, just in case he finds something that might be relevant to his endless quest for information about witchers. “Which direction are you heading from?” he asks, making conversation. </p>
<p>The man takes a drink from his waterskin. “Just finished passing through Vizima. Did a mite better there than in Oxenfurt.” He holds out his hand as Jaskier dumps his coin in it. “Oxenfurt is having a bit of trouble with bandits as of late.” </p>
<p>A feeling of cold dread drips down Jaskier’s spine. “Oh?” he forces himself to say as calmly as he can. </p>
<p>“Aye. University keeps having break-ins. Stealing precious artwork and the like. Most of the royal statues come from there, you know.”</p>
<p>He does know. Very well, in fact. The very idea of someone breaking into Velda’s studio and <i>stealing</i>--</p>
<p>“Sir? Are you all right? You’ve gone as white as a sheet. Do you need to sit down?” </p>
<p>Jaskier swallows around the lump that’s formed in his throat and waves him off, weakly. “No, no. Thank you for stopping.” He starts to hurry away before he even has a chance to hear the man’s answer. His heart is pounding in his throat. <i>I shouldn’t have left, fuck, I should have stayed there for you,</i> he thinks out into the ether. He has to get back as soon as he possibly can. </p>
<p>“Guess I’m getting that damned horse after all,” he mutters to himself as he hoofs it to the next village.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It takes him much longer than he wanted, but soon Jaskier is arriving back at the gates of Oxenfurt. He has to present his credentials, something he hasn’t had to do since the last time he made the trip to Novigrad. He understands the need for caution, but seeing all the soldiers milling around makes him nervous. </p>
<p>He steers his horse towards the university stables, planning to tend to her needs before he heads to the studio. She’s a beautiful brown mare with a white spot on her forehead. The man who sold her said she was too temperamental and that Jaskier would have an easier time walkin. For a horse that had been abandoned at an inn somewhere in the back end of Velen, mare has been nothing of the sort. Instead, she seemed almost eager to leave with Jaskier. She’s well-behaved and very well-trained; for someone selling horses, the man didn’t seem to know a lot about them.</p>
<p>She also looks so much like the horse that he imagines his Witcher owning that he can’t <i>not</i> love her.</p>
<p>“There, there, girl. You did marvelously. You’re a strong girl, aren’t you?” he coos to her as he removes her tack and starts to brush her down. The stablehand offered, but Jaskier knows his girl is prone to nipping after traveling together for a while. Plus, it soothes something inside of him, taking the time to care for her himself. </p>
<p>She nickers at him, and he strokes her before offering a fresh bale of hay and clean water. Once he’s sure that she’s settled, Jaskier grabs his things and practically sprints towards the studio. He doesn’t even stop to drop his things off in his room; he has to see Velda first. </p>
<p>He fumbles with the set of keys that she gifted him and unlocks the door. The studio is still and quiet, but Jaskier does his best to navigate through the darkened room as carefully as he can. “Please, please, please,” he begs under his breath, heading back towards a very familiar corner.</p>
<p>There, still underneath the sheet, is his Witcher, just as Jaskier left him and completely unscathed. He falls to his knees and lets out a breath in a rush of relief. “You’re safe,” he whispers, getting up on shaky feet to lean close to the statue. The marble is body-heat-warm and Jaskier wraps his arms around it. “I was worried they’d taken you, my friend. What would I have done then?” Tears are already falling down his face and he doesn’t bother to wipe them away. Relief floods through him, but then gives way to bone-deep exhaustion. “You won’t mind me sleeping here, will you? I just want to stay with you a bit longer…” he trails off, slumping down as his body gives out under the weight of his relief. He rests his head at the statue’s feet and feels a ghost of something moving through his hair.</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>Velda finds him the next morning, shaking his shoulder to wake him. “Hello, I wondered when I would see you. I guess you heard about the bandit problem?” she teases, but her smile is soft.</p>
<p>Jaskier gets to his feet and stretches, groaning as his back pops in protest. Next time, he’ll actually put down his bedroll, since he dragged it here with him. “I did. A traveling merchant told me. What have you lost?” he asks around a yawn. </p>
<p>“A couple of commissions, but the statues are hard to move. The painting department has had a worse time than we have with disappearing items. Worse than the theft is the vandalism. The bandits tend to destroy the things they can’t take.” She shakes her head as she motions to a pile of rubble that wasn’t there when he left. “Four of my students lost their entire semester’s work, and I had one of my busts for King Radovid broken beyond repair.” Her face grows serious and she takes Jaskier’s hand. “I know you like to work here, late into the night, but I would advise against it. Locks and posted guards don’t seem to be much of a deterrent, and I’d hate for something to happen to you.”</p>
<p>He swallows hard. It’s the same feeling he got in Flotsam; he knows what he should do, and what he wants to do. He’s not going to make the same mistake again. But he knows Velda will only hound him further if he doesn’t agree. “Of course, darling. So tell me, have they made any progress finding the culprits?” he asks, trying to change the subject. He doesn’t want to lie to her, but he knows, deep down, that he’s not going to stop working until his Witcher is done.</p>
<p>Velda sighs. She knows him too well. “No, unfortunately. Whoever is behind this is very clever. They’ve managed to break in again and again, slipping past the guards that have been crawling all over campus since the beginning of spring.” </p>
<p>“Goodness. Has… has anyone been hurt in the raids?” </p>
<p>Her face goes solemn. “Yes. Two students and a faculty member. They happened to be in the way.” She folds her hands behind her back and levels him with a serious look. “I mean it, Jaskier. I understand your desire and dedication, but at the cost of your life?” </p>
<p><i>Do you, though?</i> He doesn’t say anything. He glances back up at the statue, and the ever-present tug behind his ribs flares up, nearly making his knees buckle. Jaskier just manages to keep his composure and says, “I’ll be careful, I promise. But I have to finish this. There’s a reason I must see this through.”</p>
<p>Velda shakes her head, angry lines appearing on her forehead. He appreciates the care she has for him, he does, but he needs to do this. “I thought as much. I’d considered hiring a mage to see you, to see if she could break this curse that’s been cast over you. There was one from Vengerberg here in town with her apprentice, but you were gone.” Her eyes soften just a bit. “You’re my friend, Jaskier. I’m worried for you.”</p>
<p>“You needn’t be. I’ll be careful. Traveling on the road has taught me caution and how to defend myself,” Jaskier replies. It’s a little bit of a lie, but she doesn’t need to know that. “I’m not teaching, so I can work during the day and make sure I’m not alone after dark. Can we strike a bargain for that much?”</p>
<p>“Even if I said no, I doubt you would listen. You’re as stubborn as the day you first came to Oxenfurt. But promise me, if there’s another raid, you’ll stop coming here by yourself, and work when we work?”</p>
<p>He wants to promise. He wants to say yes, but he knows it would be another lie he can’t bear to tell her. The idea of people hearing him talk to his Witcher the way he does makes him feel ill. Those words and thoughts are for the two of them alone. He bites his lip and thinks of what to say, but the words won’t come. </p>
<p>She takes his silence for what it is, but just shakes her head again. “Come on. You haven’t had breakfast. Your Witcher can wait while you eat and stow your things,” she says, motioning towards the drape pooled on the floor, the same one that Jaskier had slept on the night before. </p>
<p>Jaskier nods, covering the statue once more. The panicked feeling has gone, replaced by the same burning desire to continue his work. “Soon,” he murmurs, patting the statue one last time before he follows Velda out. </p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>Time passes, as it always does. Without the added stress of lectures and grading papers, Jaskier is free to work on his Witcher in peace. He does try and work during the day, but the noise of the students around him and the lack of privacy makes his head buzz unpleasantly. Not being able to sing and talk to his Witcher while he delicately carves and sculpts and sands drives him crazy. He misses the intimacy, the closeness he can feel when he’s alone.</p>
<p>So he goes back to sneaking into the studio at night. He waits until Velda locks up and is gone for the night before he heads in, using his key. It’s stupid, he knows, but it’s worth the risk. Being with his Witcher makes him feel safe, settled. Even with the idea of looming danger outside, being in the presence of his creation takes that fear away.</p>
<p>“You’d defend me, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t let a swarm of bandits harm me,” Jaskier says as he starts working on the legs of his statue. His arms are aching, but the drive is there, pushing him forward. “Perhaps I should give you a sword, just in case? How did it go, ‘steel for humans, silver for monsters’?” He chuckles to himself as he grabs a bit of sandpaper from his tray. “You’d teach me to use a sword properly, I bet. I’m rubbish at it, but I think you’d make a superb teacher.” </p>
<p>The very idea of his Witcher putting his hands on him to correct his grip, pressing their bodies together to guide his movements has Jaskier starting to get a little hot. He’s already shed his doublet and his chemise is soaked through with sweat--what’s a bit more? </p>
<p>He sets his tools aside and stands in front of his Witcher, taking in the lines of the muscles in his arms and the way his shirt lies against the swell of his chest. If the statue were a real man, he’d be an incredible specimen. “I would be so eager to learn, to please you. Though, I can see the benefit of having you punish me.” His fingers trail down his chest and dip into the top of his breeches. The thrill of his Witcher seeing him like this has heat flaring up his spine. Someone could walk in any moment, but Jaskier is beyond caring about that. “What would you do, my Witcher? Would you take me against a tree? Bend me over and take me on all fours? Or maybe you would lay me down and ride me, never letting me touch?” </p>
<p>Undoing the laces of his breeches, he pulls out his thickening cock and starts to stroke. His eyes never leave the statue’s face, wanting and wishing the stone face could look back at him. Jaskier lets out a tiny moan and rubs his nipple through the wet fabric of his shirt. He should be embarrassed, being so wanton for a statue, but he can’t get his Witcher out of his mind. “If only you could see me, see the way that I want you,” he breathes out between clenched teeth. His languid strokes speed up, his cock flexing in his grip as he squeezes with each upstroke. </p>
<p>He can’t even blame it on alcohol this time. No, it’s pure want. Oh, how he aches to have his Witcher’s hands on him, to feel sword callouses catching against his skin. It feels right, putting on a show like this for his Witcher. He bites his lip and keeps stroking, moving closer to his Witcher. Pressing his too-hot face to the stone, he rubs up against the leg of the statue. Jaskier lets out a moan, imagining what it would be like to grind onto a thick, muscled thigh. </p>
<p>“Would you touch me like this? Let me fuck your thigh until neither of us could stand it?” Heat pools in his belly at the thought, even as something tugs at the back of his mind. Even as the statue stands still before him, this feels...familiar. His heart is hammering behind his ribs and his cock is slick in his grip. He’s close, so close. “I’d let you have me any way you wanted, Witcher. Would you take it?” he asks, pushing his cock up against the body-heat-warm stone. It should be cool, he knows, but it burns just as hot as his entire body. </p>
<p>It’s that warmth, the way the stone feels too much like flesh against his cock, that brings him to orgasm. It rolls through his entire body as his cock spurts across the leg of the statue. Jaskier bites his lip to keep quiet, though he wants to scream his pleasure out. He thrusts against the stone as the waves of bliss wash over him, rocking his hips to a stop when he can’t take it anymore. </p>
<p>He takes several deep, slow breaths and leans up to press a kiss to the statue’s jaw. “Well, I certainly hope that was as good for you as it was for me,” he says with a chuckle. He frowns at the mess he left, reaching over to grab one of the rags from his workstation. “If Velda finds out about this, she’ll kill me.” He carefully wipes down his cock and tucks himself back into his breeches, before reaching out to clean the statue as well. God, he hopes he didn’t ruin it in his...whatever that was. </p>
<p>Yawning, Jaskier stretches and feels exhaustion settling into his bones. He doubts that he could make it all the way to his room, so he just curls up at the base of the statue. “Goodnight, my Witcher. Pleasant dreams.”</p>
<p>He sleeps deeply that night. His dreams are a series of strange snippets, like pieces of a quilt fitted together in a pattern he doesn’t understand. Warm hands, soft lips, and a familiar low voice whispers in his ear. <i>“You asked if I would have you, my lark… the answer is yes.”</i></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There haven't been any more attacks on the university since Jaskier came back, which makes him less careful. He starts staying later and later, working longer into the night. It’s been days since he’s been back to his room. He’d never tell Velda, but he’s just taken to camping on the floor beside his statue. He’s almost finished; he can feel it. </p>
<p>His Witcher looks fantastic. The pose is perfect; it’s everything he had envisioned and more. Logically, he knows it should have taken him months, if not years to complete, and yet here they are. He’ll just be putting the finishing touches on his Witcher and then--</p>
<p>And then what? What’s he going to do, once he’s finished? He doesn’t have a residence to keep his statue, and Velda can’t keep him here, either. </p>
<p>The very thought of him having to sell his Witcher, or donate him, has dread pooling in his stomach to the point of making him sick. He clutches his chest and can feel tears starting to prick at the corners of his eyes. No, he’ll figure something out. Even if he has to lug the statue back to his estate in Lettenhove, he’ll do it. </p>
<p>So caught up in his whirlwind of panic, it takes Jaskier entirely too long to notice that he isn’t alone in the studio. A door creaks behind him and he whips around, eyes widening when he sees the five or six black-clad figures moving through the dim room. He has nothing with him; his dagger is back in his room and he’s only got his thin chemise and breeches on. Still, he grabs one of the chisels from his work station and brandishes it like he means to use it. “Who’s there?” he calls out. </p>
<p>The figures slowly start to converge on him and Jaskier’s heart is in his throat. “Well, well, what do we have here?” one of them hisses out from behind a mask. “A spoiled lordling working hard on his masterpiece?”</p>
<p>“I bet he’ll fetch a handsome price for a ransom,” another one adds, holding up a wicked-looking short sword. “We came to get some priceless art to sell, and instead we find a treasure like you.” The figure points the sword at Jaskier. “Let’s go.”</p>
<p>Jaskier swallows and shakes his head. It’s stupid, but he plants his feet and refuses to budge. “No. I’m not going anywhere.” He hopes his voice isn’t shaking as badly as his knees are. The realization that he may die here tonight hits him. Maybe he won’t have to worry about figuring out what to do with this Witcher after all. “Take what you want, but leave me be.”</p>
<p>There’s a chuckle that ripples through the figures gathered closest to him. “But why would we do that? Fancy student, dressed so fine. Bet your daddy will pay good coin to get you back, even if it is in pieces.” </p>
<p>Despite everything, Jaskier snorts. “I doubt that, truly. My father would probably ask you for payment for taking me off of your hands.” Something about the words feels like stones in his belly; why do those words  hurt him so much? “So save yourself the trouble and let me go.”</p>
<p>“You’re not talking your way out of this one, lordling. Now come along before I cut your legs off and drag you.” </p>
<p>Jaskier shrugs once, before grabbing the tray of tools he was using and flipping it so that the metal rains down on the man closest to him. The noise and surprise is enough that he can try to run. If he can just make it to the door…</p>
<p>No such luck. One of the men kicks his feet out from under him and Jaskier hits the floor, hard. He nearly bites through his tongue from the impact and can feel his mouth slowly filling up with blood. He tries to get back up, but the same man that tripped him presses a boot in the middle of his back. “Ah ah ah, little lordling. Not so fast. You’re going to come with us, or not at all.” </p>
<p>He tries to talk around his damaged tongue, but no dice. Instead, he bares his bloodied teeth at them as best he can. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Velda warned him, but he refused to listen, and now he’s going to be kidnapped and killed when his father refuses to answer a ransom from some two-bit bandit in Oxenfurt. </p>
<p>The boot presses harder and Jaskier lets out a cry of pain. “Simon, just kill him already. He’ll only be trouble if we take him. We can drag his body behind us, or something.” </p>
<p>From behind them, there’s a strange cracking noise, like a hammer on stone, and Jaskier’s heart breaks. “Please, not the statue, don’t break the statue,” he begs thickly. Tears begin to pool in his eyes and he claws at the ground to get away. “Kill me, if you must, but leave the statue.” </p>
<p>“What the fuck are you--” his captor starts to say, but he’s soon drowned out by screaming. The sound of a body hitting the floor echoes in the studio, followed closely by something scraping loudly enough that it hurts Jaskier’s ears. The floor shakes and there are what sounds like heavy, slow footsteps echoing in the empty space. The scrape of stone against stone follows after, and Jaskier hears yelling, boots shuffling, swords being drawn. </p>
<p>The boot on his back lets up and he’s able to roll to the side to see what’s going on. </p>
<p>No. There’s no way; it’s impossible. His statue is charging at the men, swinging his stone sword and fighting off the bandits. His Witcher’s movements are jerky and slow, but he’s still cutting down the men that get close enough. Well, bashing, more like, since it is a stone sword, after all. The men try to swarm the statue, but it blocks the swipes and jabs with his sword and forearms. The screeching of metal against stone is deafening. One of the bandits tries to sneak up behind it, sword lifted above his head. The blow comes down; the statue is not quick enough to block it, but the steel breaks against the hard stone. The man who struck gets thrown across the room. Still, each hit the statue takes causes cracks to form in the stone, a pattern of webbing that’s shooting up and down his arms and torso. </p>
<p>Jaskier’s heart jumps into his throat. What will happen if the cracks become too much? Will his Witcher simply turn to dust? He tries to cry out, but Simon, the man that held him down, backhands him across the face. It sends him sprawling to the floor again. “Shut the fuck up! This is all your fault, you spoiled piece of shit!”</p>
<p>He hardly understands how this is his fault. It wasn’t like he expected the statue he was working on to suddenly get up and start walking around. He has half a mind to say so, but he doesn’t want to get hit again.</p>
<p>The statue lets out a monstrous yell of fury and stomps closer to where Jaskier lies sprawled on the floor. Each step has the statue shedding dust and flecks of stone, pieces chipping away as it swings the sword. Simon brandishes his own short sword in front of him, but his stance is wrong. Two-bit bandits, indeed. The statue is close enough now that Jaskier can see his Witcher’s face twisted in anger, teeth bared in a way that has a strange bolt of heat rocketing down his spine. The look isn’t directed at him, but for him. Isn’t that a heady thought?</p>
<p>“How dare you harm my bard!” the statue roars, sending even more chips flying. The stone is crumbling before Jaskier’s eyes, and he swears he can see… fabric? Skin? </p>
<p>His mind is racing; what is <i>happening?</i></p>
<p>Simon tries to stammer something out, but his Witcher clearly isn’t listening. He raises the sword over his head and swings it down in a clean arc, crashing into the man’s skull with a sickening crack. Blood and brain matter splatter everywhere, covering everything nearby. </p>
<p>Jaskier tries very hard not to vomit at the sight. </p>
<p>The studio falls quiet again, save for the shuffling of feet as his Witcher looms closer. For one terrifying moment, Jaskier isn’t sure the statue will be able to stop its spree. Then, the statue reaches out one cracked, flaking palm to him. “Jaskier…” a familiar, gravelly voice says softly. It’s deeper than he remembers from his dreams, clearly rusty from disuse. </p>
<p>He takes the hand and suddenly finds himself pulled into a hug. It hurts; between his body aches and the hardness of the stone, it makes Jaskier want to squirm away. But there’s also a strange tenderness, a familiarity that makes him want to latch on and never let go. He gives into the latter and wraps his arms around the statue. </p>
<p>Soon, the stone crumbles away and Jaskier feels the warmth of a body next to his, a slow and steady heartbeat in the ear that’s pressed to his Witcher’s chest. He knows this body. He doesn’t know how, or why, but he knows it in the very marrow of his bones. He balls the dusty fabric of his Witcher’s shirt in his hand and he presses his face even harder into the soft skin of his Witcher’s chest. </p>
<p>“I’m here, I’m here with you,” his Witcher murmurs, soft enough that Jaskier can almost feel more than hear it. The words make him shiver as a warm palm cups his jaw and tilts his face up. A dusty thumb traces his cheekbone, leaving a smear behind. Golden eyes bore down into his own; it’s been too long since Geralt... </p>
<p>Wait. </p>
<p>Geralt? Why does that name sound so familiar?</p>
<p>“Geralt?” Jaskier tries the name out, the syllables rolling across his tongue. It has a familiar mouth feel, like he’s said it a thousand times before. The strange tugging sensation that has been trapped behind his chest makes his heart feel like it will break through his ribcage, and suddenly his head feels fuzzy. </p>
<p>Dozens upon dozens of memories flit through his brain; twenty years of laughs, kisses, and tears come rushing through his brain. He remembers nights by campfires, cramped beds in taverns and inns, and one memorable time in some lord’s garden. Visions of careful stitches and too-close calls pass before his eyes. A thousand different moments that they’ve shared hit him all once, and all the happiness, sadness, and love he’s felt for so many years fills him to the brim.</p>
<p>Including the very last thing Geralt said to him, there on that accursed mountain, that made everything crumble and fall apart like the witcher’s stone prison. </p>
<p>
  <i>If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!</i>
</p>
<p>“Geralt…” Jaskier sobs, trying to push away from the arms still holding him. His head and heart ache in equal measure. It’s all too much and even as he tries to flee, his legs can’t hold him up anymore. </p>
<p>The last thing he sees is Geralt’s confused face, right before everything goes black.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Waking takes entirely too much effort. Everything hurts and Jaskier feels like he’s been dragged behind a carthorse for miles. Which, he supposes, he was in a way. He cracks one eye open and is surprised to see Geralt sitting at his bedside. The witcher appears to be meditating, eyes closed and his face relaxed.</p>
<p>He almost hates to disturb him. Almost. “Geralt? Where are we?” he asks, voice thick with sleep. </p>
<p>“Your room at Oxenfurt. I brought you here after you fainted last night,” Geralt explains, opening his eyes. He’s not smiling, but Jaskier can see the softness at the corner of his eyes. His fingers are laced together on the bedcover and he refuses to look Jaskier in the eye. </p>
<p>That won’t do. “But how did you know where to find it? I’ve never brought you here before. Not even when we visited together.” <i>I was always here when you were at Kaer Morhen. You never took me up on my offer to stay here, even after you took me to your home.</i> There’s a faint bitter taste on the back of his tongue, but he takes a sip of water to wash it down. “Did… someone find us?”</p>
<p>Geralt nodded. “A woman. Small. She didn’t seem all that surprised to see me. She told me where to go.”</p>
<p>Well, that was embarrassing. Jaskier made a mental note to find Velda and apologize for the mess they left in the studio. </p>
<p>Oh, gods, the studio. </p>
<p>“Geralt… what happened? I still don’t understand. You were a statue, I made you. Now you’re...here, again? I couldn’t remember you, but I still brought you into being?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. A headache is brewing behind his left eye already. The last few hours had been more emotional than he is prepared to deal with. “What did you do after… we parted ways on the mountain?”</p>
<p>He doesn’t miss the way Geralt flinches when he mentions the mountain. “I left. I did what I always do, took contracts and traveled on my own. I found Ciri in the woods, and brought her to Kaer Morhen to keep her safe. Yennefer has her now, teaching her to control her magic alongside training with the other Wolves.” He pauses and takes a deep breath, like he’s having to relearn how. Which, to be fair, is rather accurate. “Then…I left. I came back down from the keep.”</p>
<p>“That still doesn’t explain what happened. I forgot you, Geralt. To me, you were a made up fairytale that inspired me to write songs and sketch you late into the night.” His cheeks grow hot and he looks down at his lap. </p>
<p>“You sketch?” Geralt asks, out of the blue. </p>
<p>Jaskier shakes his head and laughs, but the sound isn’t pleasant. “That’s not the point here, Geralt. What happened?” </p>
<p>At first, he thinks Geralt won’t answer. It wouldn’t be the first time this has happened, but Jaskier is losing patience. He pined for months for someone he thought he’d never meet, and now he’s flooded with proof that he did meet him, and they were… together? Lovers? He’s not even sure anymore. His head is beginning to feel too small with everything swirling around inside of it. But then, Geralt’s face shifts and he looks ashamed. It’s not really something Jaskier thought he’d ever see on the witcher’s face. </p>
<p>“I told myself I was just getting back on the Path. I was fulfilling a contract in Velen, when… I made a mistake. I got hurt and when I went to the local healer, angry that I fucked up so badly. I said some things. The same sorts of things I said to you, before you left, and she cursed me.”</p>
<p>Jaskier’s jaw drops. Not only is this the most he’s heard Geralt say, he doesn’t understand how he could have been so <i>careless</i>. “She cursed you? Melitele’s tits, Geralt, what did you say to her? You’ve tangled with enough sorceresses to know better than that.” He can’t stop the thread of bitterness that tangles in his words. He could wish that things were different, but he remembers all too well what happens when you wish too hard. </p>
<p>If anything, Geralt’s face falls even more. “I can’t even remember, but she knew. Somehow she knew the things I said to you, to Yen. She knew that I was still running from my destiny, like a coward. So she cursed me. She told me that I would fade into nothingness. If I wanted to be alone and forgotten, then that’s what I would be. So I was.” He lets out a hum and scrubs his hand across his face. “I… drifted. I existed but didn’t, because no one knew me anymore. Even Vesemir and the other witchers forgot about me. Ciri, Yennefer… and you.” </p>
<p>Jaskier squirms under his gaze. He can’t stand the sight of the sadness in those golden eyes, the weight that Geralt puts on his own shoulders. Part of him wants to revel in it, that maybe Destiny had finally decided she’d had enough of him being a stubborn ox and denying her. The other part, the part that loves Geralt with every ounce of his being, wants to take him into his arms and tell him that it will all be okay.</p>
<p>Instead, he says, “But I still don’t understand how I broke the curse. All I did was carve you out of stone.” </p>
<p>Geralt surprised him by reaching out and grabbing his hands, twining their fingers together. “No, Jaskier. You sang your songs and you told me stories and you breathed me into being with your love and your soul. You didn’t know me, but you treated me as your friend. You talked to me and loved me even though I was nothing more than something out of your imagination. You gave me life.” </p>
<p>Tears began to fill Jaskier’s eyes and his heart both sang and broke at the same time. The words Geralt said made him want to fly, but the harshness of their parting still beat like a drum in the back of his head. His heart thumped wildly behind his ribs and it took him a moment to catch his breath. “I… don’t really know what to say,” he tried, words sticking in his throat. </p>
<p>“That would be a first,” Geralt tries to tease, but it falls flat. Jaskier isn’t even sure he’s ready to handle that, not when everything is still so sharp and too bright. He must see the expression on Jaskier’s face, because his own expression drops. “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“For what, exactly?” Jaskier replies, a bit too sharp. </p>
<p>It’s Geralt’s turn to flinch. “Everything. The mountain, my words, my behavior. I…didn’t understand what you were offering me. The gift you were giving me. I still don’t think I deserve it, but you still gave it to me, even when you didn’t know me.” </p>
<p><i>You still don’t</i>, Jaskier thinks meanly, but keeps that tucked inside. Saying it out loud won’t fix anything, because he knows it’s not entirely true. He knows Geralt, inside and out. He understands why he said what he said, why he does what he does. It doesn’t make it right, but he gets it. Which is why he says, “I accept your apology.”</p>
<p>Geralt’s mouth lifts in a bit of a smile. “Thank you, for forgiving me.”</p>
<p>Jaskier holds up a hand. “I said I accept your apology, not that I forgive you. Not yet.” He sighs and glances up at the ceiling, taking a moment to make sense of the jumble in his head. “Geralt... you have to understand. You broke my heart. Years of loving you, and being with you, and you tell me that it was for nothing just because you were throwing a tantrum about Yennefer. You took it out on me because I was convenient. And now, mixed in with all of that, I have all of these moments of loving this idea of a strong, beautiful man who I wanted desperately to love me back.” He pauses again, swallowing around the lump growing in his throat. “I have to make sure it’s that I am still in love with you, not just the idea of you. Not after what happened.”</p>
<p>Silence builds between them, both men lost in their thoughts and emotions. Jaskier’s fingers clutch at the blankets and he refuses to look at Geralt. It would be easy for history to repeat itself, with Jaskier being the one to send Geralt away. But he can’t. He doesn’t really want to either. He just wants things to make sense. “What do I do?” Geralt asks finally.</p>
<p>Jaskier looks at him, motions for him to elaborate. “What?” </p>
<p>“What do I do?” Geralt repeats. When Jaskier doesn’t reply, Geralt lets out a huff and tries again. “What do I do to earn your forgiveness? Please,” he says as he slides down to kneel on the floor. “I heard you when you spoke to me. When you sang to me. When you talked of all the adventures you wanted to share with me. I want that. I want you to love me like that again. I want all those things you spoke of.” </p>
<p>He must be still dreaming. There is no way that  Geralt of Rivia is down on his knees and begging him for another chance. Maybe those bandits did actually finish him off and he’s in some sort of limbo where everything he’s ever wanted is coming true. “Are you sure you’re actually Geralt? Maybe you’re still cursed.” He laughs nervously, but sobers up when Geralt is still staring up at him. “I want them too, believe me. But what I need right now is time. Can you give me that?” </p>
<p>Geralt nods. “Anything, Jaskier.” He looks so earnest, it makes Jaskier’s heart ache. It would be so easy, to just fall back into the way things were. He knows better, though, and he needs to be sure. </p>
<p>It’s a start.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rest of the day passes quickly. They share lunch, and afterwards, Jaskier isn’t sure what to do with himself, now that he’s not going to the studio. He and Geralt have been dancing around each other, both of them unsure and out of their rhythm. Thankfully, Velda stops by to make sure Jaskier is okay. It’s a good distraction. The campus is buzzing with what happened the night before; rumors are flying about the mysterious witcher that showed up and saved the day. </p>
<p>But Jaskier owes Velda the truth.</p>
<p>“It’s... going to sound a bit far-fetched,” Jaskier hedges. Geralt is hovering just outside his field of vision, but he can feel his presence there like a weight. It’s not entirely unwelcome, but it does make Jaskier feel a bit off balance. It doesn’t help that Velda keeps glancing over at the witcher, either. </p>
<p>“Jaskier, there’s a witcher standing in your room, who looks exactly like the statue that you almost completed in less than a year, which should have taken you at least two. Please,” Velda replies, and Jaskier feels his shoulders sag a little. </p>
<p>He does his best to explain, Velda nodding her way through it. When he’s finished, he sits back and takes a deep breath. “So?”</p>
<p>“So, I was right. There was something going on. But I’m glad that you’re safe. I presume this means that you’ll be off again?”</p>
<p>He hadn’t even considered that. What will he do now that Geralt is here? “I’m not sure, honestly. Rest assured, though, I’ll come by and let you know whatever I decide.” He gets to his feet and sweeps her up in a hug. “Thank you, for...believing me. For trusting me and not thinking I was losing my mind,” he whispers into her hair. </p>
<p>Velda laughs and pats him on the back. “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far, but I’ve been around a while, my friend. Stranger things have happened.” She looks around Jaskier and gives Geralt a stern look. “You take care of him, do you hear me?” </p>
<p>“Of course,” Geralt replies, voice soft. </p>
<p>She takes her leave, after that. The silence that follows makes Jaskier’s skin crawl and there’s a weight in his chest. “Well, that was--”</p>
<p>“Do you want to stay here?” Geralt interrupts him. </p>
<p>The question hits a bit strangely; never, in his memory, can Jaskier recall Geralt asking him a question like that. It reminds him of his own request to take the witcher to the coast, which makes him swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. “I…don’t know. I’m not teaching at the moment, and I was out on the road before. I came back when I heard about the bandits...” he trails off. He starts to pick at the fabric of his doublet, anything to keep his hands occupied. “Now that I don’t have, well, <i>you</i> to work on, there’s not really anything tying me here.” He could have made some excuse, but it doesn’t feel right. Despite all of his complicated feelings, he can’t bring himself to lie to Geralt about this. </p>
<p>Geralt nods, then straightens his posture, like he’s bracing himself for impact. “You could travel with me, again. We could head out on the path, while we make our way to Kaer Morhen.” </p>
<p>“What? Why?” Jaskier asks incredulously. He’s been to Kaer Morhen once, before everything went to shit on the mountain. He wanted to go back, but has never had the opportunity. Part of him is excited, but it’s overshadowed by his doubts. </p>
<p>“Because I want you to come with me,” Geralt replies, looking just as bewildered. “I have to go back, to make sure that the curse is lifted. Check on Ciri and Yen.”</p>
<p>Jaskier’s heart sinks in his chest. “Oh, of course.” Ciri, he understands, but Yennefer is always hard for him to swallow. Especially now, faced with tangible proof of how Geralt and Yennefer and Ciri make a happy family, with no place for him in it. “We can’t have them worrying about you.” He tries to smile, but it feels like a jagged thing across his face.</p>
<p>Geralt sighs and cups Jaskier’s face in his palm. The touch is so out of place that Jaskier can’t help the way he flinches, but Geralt doesn’t let go. “It’s not like that, Jaskier. I know… I know you had to share, before. Yennefer and I decided that we make better friends than lovers. I love her, of course, but.” The <i>she’s not you</i> hangs in the air, and Jaskier curses the way his heart swells with hope. Traitorous thing. “She’s training Ciri, helping her control her chaos and understand her magic.” </p>
<p>“You’ve had to share before, too,” Jaskier reminds him, thinking of Priscilla, of the Countess, of all the other beds he’s hopped in and out of throughout the years. He knows he has no right to ask Geralt to be faithful to him, not when he’s spent years doing the same thing. If it was to chase away the taste of the Witcher and everything Jaskier wanted of him, that’s no one’s business but his own. “It wouldn’t be fair to ask that of you.”</p>
<p>“It’s different, and you know it.” </p>
<p>Jaskier lets out a hiccuping laugh, leaning into the touch. Geralt still hasn’t pulled away, and Jaskier’s heart flares. “All right, maybe it is.” The rest of what he wants to say is stuck in the back of his throat. Maybe soon he’ll find the courage to say it soon. “And fine, I’ll go. Because you asked so nicely.”</p>
<p>Geralt smiles, a small thing, but Jaskier swears it’s brighter than the sun.</p>
<p>-*- </p>
<p>It only takes them a day or two to pack and then leave the city. Geralt was incredibly grateful that Jaskier had secured Roach, further proof that it had been no accident that Jaskier had broken the curse, in the Witcher’s mind. Jaskier privately agrees, but he keeps that to himself. Once Jaskier has said his goodbyes and spoken with the dean, they’re off. </p>
<p>His sleep changes. Gone are the dreams that he had while Geralt was trapped, replaced instead with nightmares that when he wakes, none of this will be real. More than once he’s woken up with Geralt holding him, or running calloused fingers through his hair. Once, he even swears he hears singing. It’s nice, and eventually, the nightmares stop bothering him. </p>
<p>Traveling at Geralt’s side feels good, albeit strange. Jaskier remembers his time traveling alone, after the mountain, coupled with the memories of traveling by himself as Geralt’s memory haunted him. It still leaves him off-kilter, having both sets of memories twined together in his brain. Now, with Geralt beside him, he has to remember their rhythm but also not fall back into his usual patterns. He chooses to walk beside Geralt, like he did before, but now they stop for more breaks. Geralt even lets him ride Roach once in a while, and to both their surprise, the horse seems content to let it happen.</p>
<p>Geralt is impressed with the skills he picked up while the witcher was… indisposed, and makes a point of telling him so. He also makes an effort to talk more, asking Jaskier about his compositions and what he did in Oxenfurt. Bewildered, Jaskier tells him, surprised when Geralt keeps asking questions. It’s odd, but Jaskier finds that he’s enjoying the new normal they’re falling into. </p>
<p>In turn, he asks Geralt about Ciri and how her training is going. Jaskier’s heart thumps a bit harder in his chest as he watches Geralt’s expression shift into something more sunny and open than he’s seen, probably ever. It’s a good look on him, being a father. “You truly love her, don’t you?” he asks softly, when Geralt finished a tale about Ciri pulling a dagger on an unruly tavern patron. </p>
<p>“I do,” Geralt admits with a small smile. “The more I get to know her, the more I realize what a mistake I made by denying her for so long. I should have listened to you.” </p>
<p>Jaskier feels heat crawl up his neck and pour into his cheeks. “Yes, well, I’ve told you for years that you should listen to me more anyway,” he replies with a sniff, nibbling delicately at the roasted rabbit Geralt had provided him with. “But truly, I’m glad. I… wondered if she was going to be all right. I was in Murivel when I heard about Cintra’s fall.” How his heart ached to go and see for himself, but the words Geralt had spoken were too fresh in his mind. He didn’t want to chance another meeting. </p>
<p>“She told me about you, you know. That you would come every year to sing on her name day. At the time, it made me angry, that you went without telling me. I felt betrayed.” Geralt stares into the fire, the flames casting an eerie glow in his eyes that highlights the emotion there. “I realize now that I was angry that you spoke to her, when I couldn’t. I chased you away, and I had no right to control anything you did.” </p>
<p>Jaskier chokes on a small sob. “Geralt…”</p>
<p>“She would sing along with songs of yours that other bards played, but I couldn’t. Even when I knew the words, they didn’t sound right. It only sounds right when you sing them. Even as I was trapped in the void, the songs you sang to me kept me from drifting too far away.” </p>
<p>“Even <i>Toss a Coin</i>?” Jaskier asks, a bit cheekily.</p>
<p>“Even <i>Toss a Coin</i>,” Geralt agrees. </p>
<p>“You know… I used that in a lecture. An example of contemporary folklore that is used to change the hearts and minds of a populus. Of course, I thought you were a literal myth at that point, but it still stands. Though…” he trails off, chuckling to himself before he can finish. “One of my students made some crack about witchers being monsters and I almost flipped a desk in anger. Even when I was angry and hurting, I still couldn’t stand the thought of you being slandered.” </p>
<p>When Jaskier looks up, Geralt is staring at him with that same soft expression on his face as when he spoke about Ciri. It makes his heartbeat kick up again, and he knows Geralt can hear it, plain as day. “What?” he asks, shifting a bit. </p>
<p>“Nothing. Just missed you. Missed this, your fire and your flare for the dramatic.”</p>
<p>“Just that? Not my angelic voice or dashing good looks?” Jaskier tries to deflect, but Geralt is having none of it. </p>
<p>“That too.”</p>
<p>Jaskier might just burst into flames. He feels like a schoolboy with a crush, but it’s good, in a way. The butterflies in his belly remind him of the first time he saw Geralt in Posada, in that shitty tavern after being pelted with food. Or after Geralt let him wash his hair and bathe him after a fight. Or the first time they kissed. A different kind of warmth settles in his bones as he lets himself remember. </p>
<p>“I missed you too, you know. So much. Even when I didn’t know you, I missed you.” Jaskier rubs at his sternum, where the tugging sensation that drove him to create sat for so long. It’s muted now. Geralt is here, with him, and he’s starting to unravel the knot of feelings tangled in his brain. </p>
<p>“Jaskier. Come here, please,” Geralt rasps from across the way. He’s seated on their bedrolls, which are laid side by side. The familiarity sends a pang of longing through Jaskier; how many nights did they lay like that together, under the stars? Even before the nights ended in kisses and heated touches? He might just cry under the weight of it. </p>
<p>His body moves before he realizes what he’s doing. Geralt grabs his wrist and tugs him down, the lines of their bodies pressed together in a way that makes Jaskier ache. He finds himself tucked up under Geralt’s chin, strong arms wrapped around him. It’s just enough to feel safe, kept. “You don’t have to miss me again. I’m here. You have me,” Geralt whispers against his ear. </p>
<p>The dam that has been holding back his want, his need, starts to crack. A calloused thumb traces along his cheekbone and down his jaw, and Geralt is so close that Jaskier can smell soap and horse on him. It’s what he’s wanted for so long, despite everything, so he gives in. He leans up and kisses Geralt, soft and sweet. The kiss is returned, just as soft, and Jaskier melts. </p>
<p>Nothing else happens that night. They sleep side by side, Geralt’s arms keeping Jaskier close. It’s all right, Jaskier thinks when he wakes the next morning. It’s perfect.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is it, folks. We've finally reached the end. </p>
<p>I want to say thank you to all the people who subscribed, who commented on each chapter, and to everyone who took the time to walk this path with me. You're all amazing and every time I saw your comments and messages, it bolstered me. So, to all of you, thank you. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They continue on their way, and Jaskier finds that some things never change. He still plays in taverns, singing for their supper some days, and Geralt still takes contracts. The beds are still too small and the ale still tastes like piss, but they manage. Now, though, there are more kisses good night, more sleeping side by side, pressed up against each other. Life is good.</p>
<p>The further they travel together, the more Jaskier begins to realize that the important things haven’t changed. He still loves Geralt, wholly and completely, probably even more than ever now that Geralt puts in more effort. It isn’t one-sided; Jaskier helps out more around camp and actually listens when Geralt tells him to stay put. The rhyme and rhythm they had has shifted, and now Jaskier feels like they’re more in tune than ever before. </p>
<p>Their relationship comes to a head one night in a tavern outside Ard Carraigh, their last big stop before they start the journey into the mountains. Geralt went out for supplies hours ago, and Jaskier took it upon himself to earn some extra coin before they left. The smaller villages closer to the mountains wouldn’t be as generous, so it’s best to milk it while he can. He’s playing his usual set, when he notices a man staring at him from across the tavern. He thinks nothing of it, at first; a year ago, he might have been interested in the heated looks the man is sending his way, but not now. </p>
<p>Still, he can’t help but glance back once in a while. The attention is flattering, bordering on too much, but Jaskier hopes batting his eyelashes a bit will inspire the man to part ways with some of his coin. </p>
<p>It doesn’t, and it’s too late when Jaskier realizes that Geralt has come back. The witcher is frowning, but says nothing before heading upstairs to the room they’re sharing. <i>Fuck</i>, Jaskier thinks to himself. The lyrics start to sour on his tongue and he hurries through the rest of his set; he knows he needs to get upstairs. Each step is like a heavy weight that thunders in his ears as he climbs the stairs.</p>
<p>When he reaches their shared room, he’s relieved to see that Geralt’s still there. For a heart-stopping moment, he wondered if he would come back to find the room empty, a callback to before. His fears are allayed when he sees Geralt, but strike back up when he sees that Geralt appears to be packing his things. That won’t do at all. “Geralt? What are you doing?”</p>
<p>“Packing,” he grunts in reply. Oh, back to monosyllables and one-word sentences. Jaskier could kick him. </p>
<p>“And why, pray tell, are you doing that?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. His heart is thudding against his ribs, loud enough that he’s sure Geralt can hear it from across the room. “Where are you going?” </p>
<p>“Sleeping with Roach. Didn’t want to… interrupt.” Geralt refuses to look at him as he picks up the saddlebags, slinging them over his shoulder. “You seemed like you’d have company.” </p>
<p>No. He doesn’t get to do this. Not after everything that has happened, how much they’ve both changed and grown together. “Did you even bother to ask before you assumed?” Jaskier asks, keeping his voice even. His face feels hot and he can feel his stomach churning. “I thought you said that we were doing this differently. Have I given any indication to you that I wanted to be with someone else?”</p>
<p>Geralt stares at him then. “No, but--”</p>
<p>“Do you not trust me?” </p>
<p>“That’s...no, it’s not that. I do. I just…” Geralt starts to say, face pinched. He stops and starts a couple of times, like the words are stuck. But Jaskier isn’t going to make this easy on him. “I’m sorry.” </p>
<p>Jaskier nods, but doesn’t move from his place by the door. “Sorry for what, exactly?” </p>
<p>Geralt drops the saddlebags and sits down heavily on the bed. He rubs his hands over his face, and Jaskier waits with bated breath. “I’m sorry for assuming. You’re not the only one who’s… scared that things will go back to the way they were before.” He takes a long, shaky breath and his voice trails off into a whisper when he says, “I’m still trying to earn your forgiveness.” </p>
<p>Only then does Jaskier allow himself to sit down next to the Witcher. <i>His</i> Witcher. “Geralt, darling, it’s okay to be scared. And worried. You don’t have to tell me why, or explain yourself, but you do at least owe it to me to ask questions first. This… this doesn’t feel good for either of us.” He reaches out and runs his hand through Geralt’s soft hair, smiling when the other man leans into it like a flower to the sun. “Now, ask me.”</p>
<p>Geralt groans, but murmurs, “Are you having company this evening?” </p>
<p>“Just yours, darling.” Jaskier’s smile widens. “Why would I invite some clod who couldn’t stop staring at me like a besotted schoolboy, when I have a beautiful Witcher waiting for me in my room?” </p>
<p>A very complicated mix of emotions dances across Geralt’s face, fast enough that Jaskier barely has time to keep up. Finally, Geralt’s expression settles into something that looks like relief and maybe even a bit of joy. He brings his hand up and cups Jaskier’s jaw, a mirror to the way the bard is still holding him. “Jaskier… I love you. I need you to know. I have loved you for so long, and I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you properly. You know I’m bad with words, but… I think it needs to be said.”</p>
<p>Oh. <i>Oh.</i> Jaskier feels the tears welling up and spilling over before he can stop them, but he doesn’t really want to. So long he’s wanted to hear that from Geralt, the words that make his entire body light up like bonfires during midsummer. “Geralt… I love you too, you utter oaf. All of you. Both of you, the version in my head and you now. I don’t even know the difference anymore. Just come here.” He doesn’t really give Geralt any time to respond before he’s wrapping his arms around him and kissing him with everything he has. It’s not the soft, gentle kind of kiss they’ve shared recently; this kiss is full of hunger and longing, everything Jaskier has kept bottled up inside of him for the last couple of months-- maybe years. </p>
<p>They stumble a bit, at first. Soon muscle memory takes over and their bodies remember what to do, how to move against each other. Clothes are shed and thrown to the floor and Jaskier climbs on top of Geralt, still kissing him like his life depends on it. </p>
<p>“Jaskier…” Geralt murmurs around his lips and tongue, finally tugging gently to pull their bodies apart. He’s hard against Jaskier’s hip, and all Jaskier wants to do is feel that cock again. </p>
<p>“Yes, my love?” he asks, snaking his hand down to wrap around Geralt’s length. The soft skin catches against his palm, too dry, but he loves the way it makes Geralt’s breath hitch. The familiar feeling almost makes him start to cry again. </p>
<p>Geralt lets him stroke once or twice, before he grabs Jaskier’s wrist. “I want you.” Heated golden eyes trail up and down Jaskier’s naked form, making him shudder. </p>
<p>“You have me,” Jaskier replies with a cheeky smile. He can’t move his hand, but he rolls his hips, his own cock catching against Geralt’s skin. He bites his lip at the feeling. “How do you want me?”</p>
<p>The Witcher rolls his eyes, but his face is fond. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I want you.” Geralt clears his throat; Jaskier gets the distinct impression he would be red from nipples to nose if Witchers could blush. “I want you to fuck me.” </p>
<p>A shudder wracks its way through Jaskier. He can count on one hand the number of times Geralt has let him fuck him, and he’s never asked so directly. The softly spoken request has heat rolling through him and his cock flexes against Geralt’s hip. “Are you sure?” he asks, unable to stop himself from moving his hips again. </p>
<p>“Yes, I’m sure. I want to feel you.” Said so plainly, it makes Jaskier blood boil even more. </p>
<p>“Then you shall have me,” Jaskier purrs, shifting up to kiss Geralt again, slow and deep. He loses himself in it for just a moment before he pulls back, leaning down to kiss and nip along his jaw as his hands roam over familiar planes of muscle. It’s been too long since he last felt Geralt’s body beneath his hands, the same body he knows well enough to craft out of stone. </p>
<p>Geralt responds beautifully. He twists his head to the side and his mouth falls open on a gasp as Jaskier’s mouth moves lower on his body. He takes one of Geralt’s nipples in his mouth and sucks hard, giving it a sharp tug with his teeth. It makes his Witcher hiss and arch up against him. “Beautiful,” he whispers when he lets go to move to the other one. Geralt’s hand comes up to wrap his fingers in Jaskier’s hair, like an anchor. He presses a kiss to the middle of Geralt’s chest and moves lower, tonguing along the thin line of hair that leads down to where his cock is hard against his belly. </p>
<p>His own cock throbs at the sight of his Witcher before him, laid out on the bed they’re sharing, panting and glistening with sweat in the candlelight. Jaskier would tease him, but he can see from the way Geralt’s breathing, the arm thrown over his face, that he’s overwhelmed. </p>
<p>Jaskier wants to ruin him in the best way. </p>
<p>He drags his tongue along the length of Geralt’s cock before sucking the head into his mouth, relishing the way it twitches against his tongue. It’s been so long, and the salty, musky taste of his lover is heady. He bobs his head, letting the head bump the back of his throat before he pulls up again. They have plenty of time for Jaskier to make Geralt fall apart with his mouth, like they used to. Now, he just wants to dive into Geralt and stuff him full until neither of them know where the other begins and ends. </p>
<p>“Stay here, darling. I’ll be just a moment.” Jaskier rushes over to his pack and rifles through, grabbing the pot of oil he kept from his days on the road. A lesser man would have been embarrassed by that, but his Witcher knows him well. He climbs back in bed, pot in hand, and gives Geralt a wicked smile. “Are you ready?”</p>
<p>Geralt gives him a grumpy look, but his eyes are soft around the edges. “Get on with it, Jaskier.”</p>
<p>Jaskier scoops some of the oil up, rubbing it between his fingers. The idea of what he’s about to do makes heat bolt up his spine and his cock jumps against his thigh. He situates himself between Geralt’s thighs and lets his fingers run up the crack of his ass, using his middle finger to smear the oil against his hole. The sound Geralt makes cracks him open a little, and he pushes the tip of his finger inside. </p>
<p>Geralt’s body clamps down tight on the intrusion, but Jaskier coaxes him softly. “Relax, my Witcher. I’ve got you.” He can feel when Geralt takes a deep breath, the muscles slowly loosening enough that he can push inside to the knuckle. “There you are. Forgotten how to do this, have we?” </p>
<p>“It’s been a long time. No one else…” Geralt trails off, rocking his hips down onto Jaskier’s finger. “Didn’t trust anyone else like I trusted you to do this.” </p>
<p>A part of Jaskier wants to yell that no, Geralt didn’t trust him enough to do this, but he forces it to be quiet. They’re here now, in this moment, and Geralt has done more than enough to prove that things have changed. That thought is what spurs Jaskier to slide another finger in on the upstroke, slow but sure. Geralt makes another of those punched-out noises and Jaskier can’t help but coo at him. “One of these days, I’ll take you apart with just my fingers. Give you all of them until you’re stuffed full and aching. I want to watch you fall apart under my hands, my love.” All the while, he’s steadily rocking his fingers in and out of the man spread out beneath him. The wet clutch of Geralt’s body makes his own cock ache, but he wants to take his time. Both of them have waited so long for this.</p>
<p>Geralt is panting above him, thighs trembling around where Jaskier’s settled between them. He slides his fingers out to coat them with more of the oil, adding a third finger when he pushes them back in. It’s delicious, feeling Geralt’s body loosening about his fingers when he spreads them out inside of him. He can’t but keep talking so that he doesn’t come all over himself at the sight. “Would you like that? Letting me take you with my fingers and my mouth until you can’t stand it? I wonder how many times I could make you come like that.”</p>
<p>Before Jaskier can really register it, his fingers pop loose from Geralt when the man grabs his wrist and pulls. The next thing he knows, he’s on his back with the witcher hovering over him. His golden eyes are shining and sweat is trickling down his chest. Jaskier wants to lick him all over. “I’ll show you how much I want that,” Geralt growls out. He grabs the pot from the bedside and makes quick work of getting Jaskier’s straining cock slick. </p>
<p>“Geralt, are you--” Jaskier starts to ask, but then Geralt is swinging his leg over to straddle him. He holds Jaskier’s cock tight at the base as he starts to push down, both of them letting out a moan when the head pops through the first ring of muscle. Jaskier grits his teeth at the incredible heat slowly swallowing him up as Geralt bounces on his cock. His hands fly up and grip at Geralt’s hips, though he knows he’s not going anywhere. Even through the haze of pleasure, he can see Geralt’s little smirk at the way Jaskier is losing his mind. “Fuck, you feel so good…”</p>
<p>“Good,” Geralt purrs as he sinks all the way down, his muscles clenching tight around Jaskier’s cock. He leans over, starting to rock his hips up and down, a slow rocking rhythm that has Jaskier’s eyes rolling back in his head. “Do you know how much I longed for this? How I thought about it when I was trapped and all I could do was watch you? I saw you, Jaskier, every time you touched yourself and thought of me.”</p>
<p>Heat rockets down his spine even as his face colors red with embarrassment. “Oh...well… can you blame me? And the dreams… memories…” Jaskier tries to speak, but the clench of Geralt around him is making it impossible. He’s reduced to moaning and writhing underneath the witcher, who is riding him like he means to be perched on his cock forever. Which wouldn’t be the worst thing, not with the slow, torturous rolls of his hips as he brings his ass up and then slams back down. </p>
<p>Jaskier can feel heat curling in his belly, slowly building as Geralt sits back up. Using just his thighs to lift himself up and down, it’s a sight to see. Geralt’s hard cock bobs in front of him--Jaskier has to touch. He licks his palm and takes it in hand, stroking in long pulls that mimic the movement of his hips. “Are you going to let me fuck you?” he pants.</p>
<p>Geralt grins and shakes his head. “No, I’m taking care of you. Let me make you come, just like this.” <i>Let me love you hangs in the air</i>, and Jaskier is helpless to resist such a request. So instead, he lets Geralt fuck himself up and down, feeling the way his cock flexes in Jaskier’s grip as he gets closer and closer to the edge. He shifts, and must hit that spot inside himself because then he’s arching back, his hips rising and falling faster now. Jaskier flicks his thumb across the head of Geralt’s cock before he lets go to suck the precome off his thumb. </p>
<p>It’s a treat, getting to memorize his lover’s body again like this. How could he have forgotten the way Geralt looks, face contorted in pleasure as his cock gets redder and thicker the closer he is to orgasm? He takes the length back in hand and strokes harder now, faster, trying to give Geralt that last little push he needs. </p>
<p>Two or three solid strokes does it. Geralt lets out a grunt and his muscles clench tight around Jaskier’s cock as he comes, painting hot stripes across Jaskier’s chest as he shudders through it. The clench is almost unbearable, but Geralt starts rocking with renewed vigor. He shifts again and the angle is delicious, making Jaskier throw his head back on a shout of pleasure. “That’s it, Jaskier, fill me up. Want to smell like you for days,” Geralt growls in his ear as he snaps his hips back. </p>
<p>Jaskier’s fingers dig into the meat of Geralt’s hips and he plants his feet on the bed so that he can thrust up into the loose, slick heat of Geralt’s body. It feels like heaven; Jaskier knows he can’t last too much longer, but he wants to. He wants to do this forever, if he gets the chance. But he’s only human, and too soon the pleasure that’s spooling in his gut winds too tight and he’s coming. He fucks up into Geralt as hard as he can as he spills, pushing his come in as far as he can and marking the Witcher from the inside. After a few more frantic thrusts, he rolls to a stop and is left panting on the bed. His spent cock twitches inside of Geralt, who chuckles and wiggles on top of him.</p>
<p>“I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but you’re awfully heavy for a Witcher,” Jaskier gripes, but pets Geralt’s thighs softly. He’s not ready to burst the bubble of this moment just yet.</p>
<p>“Hmm,” Geralt hums, but his eyes are lined with amusement. “I can feel your heartbeat, in your cock.”</p>
<p>Jaskier’s face goes red again. “Yes, well. That happens. Especially if you insist on continuing to be perched upon it like that. I can hardly be blamed.” </p>
<p>Geralt shifts up and kisses his nose. Unfortunately, the movement causes Jaskier’s softening cock to fall out, accompanied by a small rush of his come. Which is way hotter than it should be. “Uh,” he starts to say, but Geralt sits up, his own cock already hard and flushed again. </p>
<p>“Mmm, that’s something I could get used to,” Geralt purrs, taking his length in hand and jerking himself in short, quick strokes. “I think I like the feeling of being full of you. No wonder you loved this so much.” Jaskier’s cock gives a small twitch against the wet of his thigh, but it’ll be a while yet before he can get hard again. “Will you fuck me again?”</p>
<p>“Give me a few hours and a nap, and I’ll gladly take you again,” Jaskier murmurs, unable to take his eyes off the sight. He may not be able to get hard again, but there’s a different sort of heat settling in his belly at just…watching. At enjoying Geralt’s pleasure like this. “Now, let’s see what we can do about this, hmm?” He sits up, but Geralt pushes him back, stroking faster. </p>
<p>He makes a questioning noise but before Geralt can answer he’s coming again, covering Jaskier’s torso again. One stray spurt hits his chin, and Jaskier uses his thumb to bring it to his mouth. “Fuck, Jaskier,” Geralt pants as he wrings the last few drops out. He slumps a bit when he’s finished, cock finally starting to soften in his grip. “Sorry, it was just too much.”</p>
<p>“Geralt, my love, you forget that I am intimately acquainted with your frankly terrifying refractory period. I may not be able to fuck you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get you off as many times as you need.” </p>
<p>Geralt waves him off. “No, I think that’s it for now. Can we…have a bath and fall asleep together? Like we used to?” he asks, not meeting Jaskier’s eyes. “I never really appreciated how much that settled me, having you clean and close to me when I slept. It wasn’t until I was in bed back at Kaer Morhen that I realized what was missing.” </p>
<p>Jaskier’s heart jumps into his throat. “Of course, darling. I would love nothing more.” </p>
<p>An hour or so later, they’re both clean and warm and tucked into bed. Jaskier is on his side with Geralt pushed up behind him, arms wrapped around him to keep him close. The witcher is already asleep, soft snores ruffling his hair. It takes Jaskier a bit longer; he’s a little scared to go to sleep, wondering to himself if when he wakes, this will have just been another dream in his bed in Oxenfurt. He tells himself that it’ll be fine, and after a bit, drifts into an uneasy sleep.</p>
<p>-*-</p>
<p>Sunlight streaming through the inn window wakes Jaskier up. He blinks awake, taking a moment to remember where he is. Geralt never sleeps in this late; he must have been more tired than either of them realized. Speaking of, Jaskier glances over at his lover, his face still slack with sleep. Geralt looks younger, like this. His face is relaxed and soft; Jaskier feels his heart swell at the sight. Before, Geralt could never relax on the road. He would always sleep lightly, or just meditate. </p>
<p>The fact that he slept so deeply the night before makes Jaskier feel warm. Not a dream, then. He crawls up higher on Geralt and presses soft kisses to his jaw, enjoying the feel of sleep-warm skin beneath his lips. He contemplates seeing if he can coax Geralt into another round…</p>
<p>“Don’t even think about it,” Geralt mumbles, opening his eyes. “I thought I was supposed to be the insatiable one.” </p>
<p>Jaskier laughs. “Can you blame me?” he asks. For the first time in months, he feels settled. He doesn’t feel the constant push-pull of his old memories and his new ones, or at least, the overlap doesn’t bother him as much. It might, later, but for now, the storm has quieted. The tug in his chest has been replaced by a blossoming warmth. It’s the same feeling he had when he knew he’d fallen in love the first time. </p>
<p>“No, but we do need to get going. I want to make it to Kaer Morhen as soon as possible,” Geralt says, even though he makes no move to get up yet. “I can’t wait to take you home. Meet Ciri again, and see my brothers.” </p>
<p>If his heart wasn’t already full to bursting, it might have combusted in his chest at Geralt’s words. “Geralt… do you mean that?” he whispers, running his fingers over his lover’s chest. </p>
<p>Geralt replies by running his fingers over Jaskier’s back, making him shiver. “Of course. I love you. I should have done this years ago, but I was… scared. Scared of giving away that part of me and then losing it.” He snorts and shakes his head. “Then I lost it anyway.”</p>
<p>Jaskier listens, waiting until Geralt is finished before he says, “What’s done is done. No reason to dwell. We’re here now, and that’s what matters.” He kisses Geralt’s scarred chest and pulls himself out of bed. He doesn’t want to, but needs must. And he can admit that he’s eager to get to the fabled keep again and see Geralt’s family. That’s a heady thought and it makes his head swim a little. “I can’t wait to see them again, for what it’s worth. I’m sure your family will be far better than mine was, if I can be honest,” he says with a chuckle.</p>
<p>He finds himself swept up into Geralt’s arms and crushed against his chest. “You’re my family too. By now, your very name is carved into my bones. It’ll never leave.”</p>
<p>Jaskier chokes on a sob and they stand there, embracing one another for a long moment before they step back. Neither of them speak; nothing needs to be said. </p>
<p>They move around each other as they pack and gather their things. It’s fluid, more fluid than it has been since they started on the road. It’s like before, but better, more layered. Jaskier is reveling in how good it feels. Geralt is quiet, but it’s comfortable. He looks just as much at ease as Jaskier feels.</p>
<p>They separate for a bit so that Geralt can see to Roach and Jaskier settles the bill with the innkeep. He ignores the look the old woman gives him; what happened the night before is none of her business. When he steps out, he waits for the familiar fear of being left behind to hit him, but it never does. It helps that Geralt comes trotting up on Roach moments later. “Are you ready?” he asks, nodding towards the road.</p>
<p>“Yes. I think I am,” Jaskier says as they start off. He’s got his lute in his hands and a song already composing itself in his head. He can hear the melody winding its way into his head and he’s itching to write it down. Maybe he’ll sketch something to go with it, once they reach Kaer Morhen. </p>
<p>Today is going to be a good day. He can feel it. </p>
<p>-END-</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Like it? Love it? Let me know below or come holler at me on Discord! My handle there is eyesofshinigami#0707! I'd love to hear from you!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>